


The Vampire Hunter's Slave

by subplotter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Cruelty, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Edging, Enemies, Enemies to Lovers, Erotica, Eye Contact, Face Slapping, Heavy BDSM, Human/Vampire Relationship, Humiliation, Kink, M/M, Masochism, Mind Games, Needles/Syringes, Non-Consensual Bondage, Orgasm Denial, POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV Multiple, Pain, Past Rape/Non-con, Present Tense, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romantic Angst, Sadism, Scratching, Sexual Slavery, Situational Humiliation, Submission, Suicidal Thoughts, Unconscious Sex, Vampire Bites, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Verbal Humiliation, Will lead to an HEA eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2020-05-14 11:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subplotter/pseuds/subplotter
Summary: Dark enemies-to-lovers dubcon between a small submissive vampire and a sadistic vampire hunter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vampire is holed up under a blanket of silver during the full moon to prevent himself from giving in to his monthly urge to make new vampires when a sadistic hunter finds him and forces him to submit.

_Aimeric_

The full moon is a cruel mistress. Unknowing humans believe she only commands the wolves, but we vampires are her victims too. The full moon is the only time we sweat, our already dry corpses making room for the blood of new children. The moon bids us to kill, to drink our fill— _finally_ , as we always wish we could—and stand guard as the fresh corpses grow fangs and feed, feed…

Oh, I am hungry. The ache in my fangs begs me to bury them in a hot human neck. The pain is so bad that I almost forget the burn of the silver blanket draped over me, keeping me immobile in my dreary apartment while the full moon glows.

My human slave Kira is nowhere to be found. Following my orders, every full moon she drapes me in the blanket made of silver chains and becomes scarce. I know not where she sleeps, but I think of her heartbeat, her warm skin, the hot blood pumping through her veins. Perhaps it would be safer for me to have her near, ready to remove the silver should a hunter or other threat find me while I cannot move. But she is small and weak—a helper, not a guard. It would not be fair to her.

In general, I prefer male meals. But during the full moon, I would ravage anyone, Kira included. Even so, I must remember how badly I need my slave. After my sire’s death, his enemies cast me out of my birth den, and now I am alone, save for her. Yet I would tear into her now if I were able, feel her lifeblood coat my cool tongue… Then I would have a fellow vampire, a true friend. But it is forbidden to make children without permission from an established den leader. I would only be condemning her and myself to final rest.

I hear something. Wood creaks.

My hunger remains, but now trepidation twists in my hollow gut. No vampire would be alone like this if they could help it. There is safety in numbers—safety from the hunters, who sometimes risk night hunts during the full moon. I have no protection because formidable humans look down on me, and fellow vampires judge me for having no home.

“Kira?” I call out to the empty room. My apartment is just that—a room—but outside is a staircase, and the sound comes again—the creaking. “Kira, you are foolish! Stay away!” Yet I hope it is her. Her presence will increase my pain, but better her than a hunter since I cannot break free from my blanket without human help.

The lock turns, and I exhale my relief. It must be Kira; she is the only one with a key. Her heart hammers so sweetly.

“Kira, you have your orders. You are to stay away.”

“My name’s Storm.” A man’s voice. “And I don’t take orders from you. Neither does Kira now.”

My cold body grows colder. I dart my gaze around wildly, trying to catch a glimpse of the intruder.

“Maybe in her next life, she won’t be vamp-fucking scum.”

His barely audible steps end somewhere to my left. My fear twists inside want—his heartbeat is strong, fast. I long to snuff it out.

“I have killed no humans.” It is not the truth, and I know already that no hunter will believe me, but I can’t think through the hunger, pain, fear. Oh, Kira. My Kira has left me too. And I am so hungry. The silver is so heavy. In death, I would feel nothing. Perhaps—

“All vamps kill.” Storm hums menacingly. “But you’ve gotten lucky, beast.”

I don’t want to know how.

“You’ll get to live a bit longer while I take my sweet time with you.” At last, Storm brings himself into view. A sinister smile on a pretty, masculine face. He’s a brunette, scruff decorating his well-structured visage. His hair is just long enough for me to grip as I sink my teeth into him.

He stands lean but strong, a pack slung over his shoulder. He walks over to the window and drawsback the curtains, letting in some of the moonlight. I see well in the dark, but now I can make out his veins.

Saliva pools in my mouth, and fresh sweat eeks from my pores.

Storm takes slow steps toward me. “Yes, I taste good. Are you imagining it?” He sinks into a crouch next to me, and I can sense his warmth.

I regret the silver that keeps me tethered and hiss, showing him my desperate fangs. “You would be mine.” The first of my children.

He chuckles. Arrogance pours from him, and I want to kill him. But the moon whispers to me. _Sire him. He is a fighter._

_No, he is a soldier. And he fights on the wrong side._

“You are so small. Turned as an adult, though, I’d guess.”

Twenty-four. Many full moons ago. And yes, I am small! I am so cute! This is what other vampires say when they mock me and why I cannot seem to have more than one weak slave. The humans do not want to serve me because my presence does not inspire lust in them. They want disquieting, dominant masters.

Where my blanket of silver does not cover, Storm touches me. A single searing thumb pad on my shoulder, but it vanquishes everything but blinding want as I fall into his heartbeat, pulsing where we connect. I want him, I want him. Must drink, must hold. I’ll let him sink his burning organ inside me, and he’ll spend as he dies, growing weaker, softer. Mine…

The touch disappears, and I scream. Agony. Burning. “Get this silver off of me!” I growl my scariest growl, hiss and hiss and fight uselessly against the metal. “Get it off!”

“Your slave is dead. Remember?”

But I don’t have the capacity to think of anything but Storm’s heartbeat quickening. It is more distant now that he does not touch me, but I still feel it. It calls to me like the most beautiful siren song.

“You would make a healthy vampire.” My instincts push me to woo him into it. “You would have many slaves willing to serve you.”

“You vamps have no morals.” Storm spits, the warm saliva landing on my cheek. In my hunger, it feels good.

_Please touch me again._

Storm moves away and sets his pack on my end table. He removes something I can’t see, but when he comes close again, I make out the muzzle. As he crouches behind me, I thrash my head from side to side. But I am powerless to stop him from strapping the silver monstrosity over my mouth and jaw. The silver sears my flesh, and my hunger gets worse, like claws tearing me up from inside.

My vision blurs. This is too much silver for me. Storm’s footsteps brush the carpet. He comes near my head again, and I expect more silver, though I know not where. Instead, he pricks me on my neck. But it is silver, mixed with some liquid that allows it to pass through a syringe. Storm pushes the liquid into my veins, and my vision goes black. This is pain like I have never known, a fire raging beneath my flesh, destroying me. I cannot move, can hardly think, though my body feels lighter. Has he removed the blanket? Regardless, I remain immobile, the silver poisoning my undead blood. It probably won’t kill me, but I’ll need to feed. I might be too weak to find a meal when this is over.

But this won’t ever be over, will it? He’ll kill me.

Hopelessness adds to my pain.

Then I feel him again, his hand behind my knee, bending back my leg, feeding the vibrations of his heartbeat into my needy body. My vision returns, though it’s once again blurry. Storm is above me, and I hear metal clanking. _No more silver! Please no more!_

But more silver wraps around my leg, sending fresh pain into my shin and thigh. The silver is a chain, and when Storm’s flesh disappears, the chain remains and my leg stays in its bent position.

Is he…? Does he mean to…?

More touches, more silver. My vision comes and goes. Whenever Storm’s skin connects with mine, I feel almost joyful. Blood is in reach! But I never get to taste it, and torturous pain always follows.

My psyche collapses. Inside the unimaginable pain, I find…peace?

I must be close to death. Mother Lamia gifts me with delirium and calls me to her bosom for my final rest.

Another prick at my throat. I brace for fresh agony, but instead, I find relief. My vision becomes clear again, my body aware. Has he injected me with…blood?

Silver cuffs weigh down my wrists where my hands lie above my shoulders. The chains around my legs keep them bent back. On full moons, I am always naked except for underwear because the silver blanket needs contact with my skin to be effective. But right now, I feel completely naked despite the fabric covering my privates. This hunter, he…

He must mean to rape me. And I have been raped before, so I should feel sick about it, yes? But I don’t. I only hunger.

The muzzle prevents me from moving my head, but I hear rustling near the end table. Then Storm comes back into view. He wears no shirt now, and in my full moon addled state, he is the most beautiful human I have ever seen. He is beautiful regardless, I think, with those lean muscles and that coarse hair on his chest. He kneels before me, his gaze hot and rageful, and rips my underwear away. For a second, I feel no pain because I am fixated on the fantasy of his searing member sinking into my crevice. Dominant humans so rarely want my kind. It has been so long since I’ve had a human…since before my exile, when I still held sway over den slaves and could command them to fuck me.

Storm’s gaze bores into mine, and a crease appears in his brow. “You want this.”

I know he wants to torture me. He wants me feeling violated and shamed before he steals my life, but I cannot—

He drops my silver blanket over my head. I scream through my muzzle as the burning agony engulfs my face, but I still feel it when Storm touches me again—on my knees, my inner thighs, in my crevice. As a member of the undead, my sex organ is perpetually stiff, but I become very aware of it now. I’m lightheaded with want. I think of Storm’s veins, the ones in his throat but also in his member. I could feed from him there.

I burn and ache all over. His heartbeat thuds through my skin.

Spongy bluntness pushes against my crevice, and I scream again, my anguished body shaking. The only moisture at our joining is my sweat and whatever might have leaked from his member, and it hurts, but the pain pales in comparison to the silver’s searing contact. Not to mention the delicious throbbing of his sex organ as it connects with my most sensitive tissues.

My fangs ache fiercely. I wish he would touch me there too.

Storm removes my silver blanket, and I gasp as much as I can given the muzzle. Then he presses his wrist against the metal bars covering my mouth, and I turn into the feral beast he takes me for, hissing and hissing. I feel his heartbeat deep inside me, but his wrist pulses too, taunting me so cruelly that my fangs become wounds. I’d sooner rip them from my gums than continue to endure this, yet I must endure it.

_Lamia, take me._ But she cannot. Storm gave me blood, and though it wasn’t much, it keeps me strong. Alive.

At last, he takes his wrist from the muzzle. Tears leak from my eyes, and he pulls out and thrusts back into me, out, in…

My lower half buzzes with pleasure, giving me a feeble reprieve from my hunger, but then Storm puts his mouth to my ear.

“It was my blood in that syringe,” he says.

Primal pleasure surges inside me, and something in my mind shatters. Involuntary whimpers and moans shake from me, and as immobile as I am, I reach out with my mind, my heart. It pleases me that his blood is inside me, but I am desperate for more of him, more of his blood, his touch. In this moment, I would even take more silver.

Though the cuffs clamp my wrists, I can still move my fingers. I bend them, imagining sinking my sharp claws into Storm’s strong shoulders and back.

He looks at me, holds my gaze, his throbbing member still moving in and out of me. I try to tell him with my eyes that I need to touch him, that I need his blood. He hates me, but in this moment, I love him. I need him. _More._

An emotion I can’t interpret crosses his gaze. He grips my forearm, and I moan. _Give me my hand. Please!_

“It’s sick that you like this.” He’s breathless—from the exertion of fucking me only or also from his own pleasure? “None of your kind ever likes this. What would they think of you, enjoying yourself on a hunter’s cock?”

_They already look down on me. What does it matter?_

“Maybe I won’t kill you. Maybe I’ll keep you as _my_ slave. Taste of your own medicine, you disgusting creature.” He spits on the bars of my muzzle, and the saliva drips through and into my own mouth. That shattered place in my mind undulates with pleasure. Only his blood on my tongue would be better.

His thrusts grow more violent, and I’m keenly aware of my sex organ again. As a vampire, my testicles have shrunk and hold no semen, but my privates still like to be touched, and I still experience orgasms. I have one every time I feed. I have never reached my peak without feeding, but will I now? The pleasure enveloping me is so strong I nearly forget the moon.

And Storm still looks at me. I feel his gaze like a lover’s touch, not a rapist’s. There is something in his eyes that calls to my most damaged places.

He rubs my forearm again. “I’ll let you touch me, and you’ll be grateful.”

I tell him yes with my eyes. But he must know I will claw him. I won’t be able to stop myself.

Yet he removes the cuff. At once, I clamp my hand on his back and dig my claws deep into his skin. He bares his teeth but does not punish me nor stop fucking me, and I delight in the sticky warmth of his blood on my fingers.

Despite how it burns, I rub his blood on my muzzle, and I lick the silver bars. I can barely taste the blood with how the metal sears me, but I can’t stop.

My addled brain finds sense, and I put my claws to his throat, intent on piercing his jugular, but he grips my hand and shoves it back to the floor. He keeps his grip there, though, and we intertwine our fingers. I can’t help but dig my nails into his hand, and he winces but doesn’t break the hold.

“I think I’ll keep you.” He puts his mouth to my ear again. “You obviously don’t have a den. No one will miss you.”

He is correct.

“I’ll keep you in a cage. Take you out when I—need to—blow off steam.”

I close my eyes, head swimming with what he’s telling me, body humming with his skin against mine.

“You’ll forget what life’s like without a muzzle. But you’ll have my blood inside you. Can’t have my fuck slave dying on me.” He lets out a moan against my ear, and I ache deeply for him. He is all over me, but I’m empty everywhere but my crevice. I need his blood. I need him to soak me under my skin.

Fresh tears trickle past my temples, yet my orgasm builds. I clench my bound thighs around him and squeeze his hand as his thrusts grow erratic, driving his pulse deep into my bowels. After a while, he thrusts into me and stays there, and his cock pulses and twitches inside me. He growls against my ear as his hot cum spills into me.

It is too much. My pleasure peaks, drowning out my pain completely for a few blissful seconds as I jerk uncontrollably against the hunter’s sweaty, muscled form.

_Perfect_ , my idiotic mind whispers. _Safe. Home._ But then Storm takes his hands from me, pulls his wondrous member from my crevice, and punches me in the chest.

“I should kill you for this!” He shows me his injured hand, the one I dug my claws into. The blood glistens in the moonlight, taunting me.

I cannot say sorry, but I would hardly mean it. Will he bring me to my final rest after all?

Storm puts on his trousers, then goes over to his pack and comes back with a set of gloves. They’re fabric except for their silver tips. I don’t fight him as he fits them over my claws even as they make them ache dully. That pain is nothing compared to where silver touches my flesh.

He removes the chains from my legs, and I revel in the feel of his hands on me as he unfurls my limbs. I still long to drain him, but I am weary.

“You’re beyond fucked-up. The others fight me even after I rape them, but you can’t be raped, can you?”

I can, though. By older vampires from my birth den with nothing to give me but cold sex organs ramming into my unwilling crevice. _“We are your elders. You shall service us,”_ they would say. Not my sire but the ones who made me leave. _“All you do is mope now that your precious sire has gotten himself killed. It is unappealing, runt.”_ If my sire had known they were raping me, he would have gotten us exiled sooner. But it isn’t as though we could have started our own den. One must be of a certain age to fulfill the requirements for such, and my sire was young. I feared for our safety if we had gone out on our own.

Little did I know we were not safe at all.

Storm hooks my wrist cuffs together so that my arms are bound in front of me, the silver burning my stomach. I cannot hold them up from my flesh. Perhaps I would find the strength to move with a feeding, but I doubt Storm will give me enough blood for that.

He puts cuffs on my ankles and hooks those together too. I whimper, losing my resolve with each fresh lick of pain.

“You won’t make me feel sorry for you.” Storm wraps his hand in gauze. “I’m letting you live, which is more than you deserve.”

My fangs still hurt. I close my eyes and listen to Storm’s heartbeat, imagining him passive and willing beneath me. I have full use of my hands, my legs, my teeth. He tilts his head back, baring his pulsing jugular, and I—

A pinprick at my throat pulls me from my fantasy. The pain of this injection is far worse than the last time, the silver taking my vision immediately. I’m screaming, I think, but I can’t control any part of myself. Then a second pinprick steals my voice, and I burn and burn and wish I were dead.

“This is how I like your kind,” Storm whispers in my ear. “Powerless.”

He lifts me from the floor, but even his skin fails to comfort me. All I know is numbing pain, then eventually rough fabric and the harsh thud of a lid over me. He’s put me in the trunk of a car.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storm takes Aimeric home.

_Storm_

Bringing this monster home is against the code: (1) Find them, (2) make them suffer, (3) send them to hell. But the high I’m riding is fucking astronomical. I can barely focus enough to drive, and don’t I deserve this? After everything vamps have taken from me, it’s only fitting one of them should make me come whenever I want.

Keeping someone against their will is wrong, yeah. But vamps have been keeping slaves for centuries, and the majority of them aren’t as willing as the one I eliminated tonight. And if this vamp likes it, well, it’s not the worst thing I could be doing. He’s not dead, which is how he should have stayed when he died the first time. So he’s lucky—just like I told him.

I’ll put him out of his misery eventually. Once I get bored.

The hour and a half it takes me to get to my place outside the city doesn’t do shit to calm me down. My dick stayed soft for about forty-five minutes, but I’m as hard as ever as I park the car and get out. The vamp’s still unconscious, unable to fight off that dose of silver without more of my blood, and just seeing his naked flesh again makes me break out in goosebumps. I usually get excited right before I put my dick in one of these fucking abominations—I’m only _human_ , after all—but I’ve never been this turned on by a vamp. There’s something about this one, how he reacted to me.

I’ll have to fuck him again tonight or I’ll never be able to rest.

I bring him into the house and check my salt perimeter’s strong before laying him on the living room hardwood. The overhead light lets me get a proper look at him. In that shithole where I found him, there wasn’t a lamp or lightswitch in sight.

I run my hands down his chest and torso. He’s a little colder than room temperature due to the silver, his skin smooth and blemish-free like every vampire’s. I never touch them like this. It would be a waste of silver to dose them all down to complete unconsciousness, but I had to be absolutely sure he wouldn’t be banging around in my trunk. Might have caught someone’s attention, and there’s nothing (except maybe the vamps themselves) that I hate more than dodging questions from people blissfully unaware of the monsters lurking beneath the surface of their mundane existence.

I put the vamp on his stomach, and he really has a perfect ass. I bet as a human he was delectable. Personally, I love having someone small like this to easily overpower, and I like seeing their eyes widen when I exert that power, especially when those eyes are the eerie white ones that vamps have.

I pull apart the vampire’s ass cheeks and examine his pristine hole. This is the only part of vamps I can honestly say I love. I spit on the hole and push my finger inside it, delighting in its cleanliness, its tightness. Vampire orifices recover so quickly it’s like fucking a virgin every time.

Overcome, I unzip my pants and get out my cock. I have to be inside that hole; I _deserve_ that hole. It gives me an extra thrill to fuck something unconscious. He’s utterly powerless to resist this. He doesn’t even get the opportunity to like it, and he’s so…adorable?…in the muzzle, cuffs, and gloves.

I fuck his hole for a good few minutes, but then the thrill wears off. I need him to be aware. I need him whimpering and moaning and looking at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted to touch. I’d say it was the full moon that made him that way, but I do this every month. The full moon is my pleasure night, where I’m not killing for profit but just to get my fucking rocks off. And the vamps never look at me like he did while I rape them. Maybe a little when they first see me because they want my blood, but once they realize they won’t get to drain me, they turn into feral monsters.

Not this one. If anything, he got…sweet.

I remove the cuffs on the vamp’s ankles so he’ll be able to hold me with his legs. Fuck, it was so damn hot earlier when he clenched his thighs on me. He wanted me, wanted me bad, and there’s something so fucking pathetic about a vampire wanting a hunter’s cock that I can’t get enough of it.

I put the vamp on his back and reach for my pack. Rather than waste more syringes on him, I get out my silver dagger instead. I’m contracting far too many injuries tonight what with my clawed-up hand that still hurts like a bitch, but I’ll be fine. I’ve still got full use of it, and what’s one more cut? I shouldn’t have to resort to ingesting vamp blood, which is the last fucking thing I want to do.

I make a cut on my arm and press the wound to the vamp’s muzzle. I can tell when the blood’s dripped through the bars because he stirs. Then I feel his tongue on me and rear back. Fucking disgusting.

He looks up at me with those eyes.

“Welcome back, beast.”

He moves his legs, and I run a hand down his thigh.

“That’s right. I’ve given you use of your legs so you can wrap them around me while I fuck that hole again.”

His eyes fall half closed, and as soon as I move into position, he lifts his legs around me. I’ve already got his cuffed wrists above his head, and he tries to lift them too but fails.

Good. Don’t want to give him too much freedom.

I spit on his hole a couple more times. I was fixated on making him suffer earlier, following my code even on a pleasure kill, but this time, the fuck is truly for me. With some moisture to guide my way, my cock goes in a little easier, and I suck in at the coolness enveloping my burning dick. Oh yeah. Fuck, this is good.

The vamp hugs me hard with his legs, like my cock could never be deep enough for his liking, and it ticks something in my brain. Somewhere, I know I shouldn’t be happy to give this abomination pleasure, but I can’t care much with all the endorphins swimming through me.

I don’t play games this time; I fuck him hard and deep, staring into his eyes. They don’t hold any fear now. They’re heavy-lidded like my cock is a drug, and his moans come with every thrust, soft and sweet.

I grip his throat, and his eyes open a little wider, but vamps don’t need to breathe.

I’m getting close already. All I can think about is giving the vamp my cum, and I growl as I thrust and thrust. I must be hitting him good because his eyes roll back and he whimpers, and I put every ounce of my strength into making him feel it even more.

“Take it,” I mutter. “Take my hunter cock, you vile creature.”

I thrust a final time and keep my hips flush with his ass cheeks as I spill my load into him.

Fuck! This is the best hole I’ve ever had.

I catch my breath, then start to pull out, but the vamp cries and squeezes me with his legs. Unsure how to feel or what to think, I go still and watch him, and he pushes up with his hips, clearly attempting to fuck himself on my spent dick.

This I can’t let go on. I won’t be _his_ fucktoy, and anyway, my cock soon becomes way too sensitive for that bullshit.

“I’m done.” I force his legs off me and pull out, afterward hesitating only for a moment to watch my cum dribble out of his hole. My legs are shaky as I get to my feet, so I sit on the couch to refasten my pants. I never managed to take off my clothes, and I’ve sweat through the pits of my shirt. I go ahead and remove that.

The vamp’s gone silent, and my eyelids are getting heavier by the second, but I realize I haven’t thought as far ahead as where I’m going to put him while I sleep. I told him about a cage, but I don’t have one—at least, not yet.

I guess it doesn’t really matter where I put him. The salt perimeter will keep him contained, just like it keeps all the other monsters out. And he won’t starve by morning if I leave him where he is.

I put the cuffs back on his ankles, though, just to be safe.

He looks at me like I’ve betrayed him.

“This isn’t a spa vacation,” I tell him. “You’re my sex slave, my fuckhole. I don’t give a shit about your feelings, beast.”

The vamp’s expression sours further, and he points his colorless gaze away.

Whatever. I’m too tired to fuck around with this any longer, and he should get wise to how things are going to be.

The last thing I bother to do is throw a blanket over him. If a ray of sun manages to reach him, he’ll get burns, and that’d just be a pain in my ass.

My feet are like anvils as I trudge to my bedroom, and I fall asleep in my pants.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aimeric gets to speak.

_Aimeric_

The longer the silver cuffs and muzzle remain on me, the less I feel them. Perhaps it’s my mind playing tricks. Because I think I’ve gone a little insane under this blanket since I’m fantasizing about more of that silver fire in my veins, so as long as it’s enough to put me to sleep. The pain was awful, agonizing, but the sleep… It was the first respite I’ve had from consciousness since my turning, and I long for it again. The impossibility of sleep is one of the vampire’s many curses—perhaps the worst. And now more than ever, escape beckons me.

If only the hunter didn’t hate me so, but this is a foolish thought too. A hunter’s nature is to hate my kind. Perhaps I ought to tell him the whereabouts of my birth den. He could slay my rapists. But would he kill the humans as well as he claimed to have done to my Kira? I must protect them. They never did me any harm.

The loss of Kira smarts fiercely now that my full moon hunger has gone. I am still hungry, but it is a manageable bloodlust and the least of my worries now. The hunter will have to feed me if he wants to keep me as his “fuckhole,” though I’ve no doubt he will give me just enough to allow me to survive.

I can scarcely believe this is what my life has come to. But I wish he would take me again. The last time was hurried, and he didn’t allow me to find my peak, but there are few sensations more pleasurable than a human member throbbing inside me. If anything, it would quiet my mind, give me something to focus on. Yes, he is Kira’s murderer, but he will do these things to me whether I enjoy them or not.

Yet the hunter does not come for a very long time. In fact, I believe it is night again when I next hear his footsteps. The blanket is thick, so I cannot judge the time by sight, but I sense it. The moon has risen again, though she wanes.

The footsteps come closer, then the blanket flies back. Storm’s dark hair is wet, and a few strands sweep across his forehead. Glancing further down, I catch the glint of a knife at his belt. I would bet my life it’s made of silver.

Storm’s gaze is cruel, his smile wicked, but a thrill of anticipation licks through me. How will he give me his member tonight? Will it come with a few drops of his blood past the bars of the muzzle? I could use some blood. I’m unable to even lift my arms.

He takes the cuffs from my ankles and yanks me to my feet by the chain connecting my wrist cuffs. It is hard to stand, especially when he pulls me so only my toes touch the wooden floor.

“Done sulking?” he asks.

It’s true I sulked last night. My mind was fatigued, my body overstimulated. He must know that as he doesn’t strike me as unknowledgeable in the area of torturing my kind, but of course I can’t answer him, and he told me himself he doesn’t care how I feel.

Which begs the question: why does it matter to him whether or not I sulk?

I simply look at him.

He scowls. “I’m getting bored with you already.”

I can hardly guess what would entertain him. It isn’t as if he’s given me the means what with this horrid muzzle. Then again, I’m not the most skilled conversationalist. Kira used to go on and on, and I was content to listen unless I had instructions for her.

Sadness stabs my heart.

Storm huffs and drops me a little lower so that I can walk. He drags me by my wrists into the kitchen.

“I’m gonna take off that muzzle, but if you make _any_ attempt to bite me, I’ll let you starve. I could get in a good few fucks before you died.” He puts his face close to mine, locking our gazes. “Even if you expired mid-fuck, I’d still get off.”

My stomach turns with sickening fear.

“I fucked you while you were unconscious last night. A dead hole would be just as good.” And he smirks.

Even if I could speak, I would have no words. His hatred of me is a living thing.

He shoves me down to the tiled floor. Still keeping hold of my wrists, he uses his free hand to open a cabinet above him, and I catch sight of a fresh wound at his wrist. The claw marks I made in his hand are uncovered and scabbed over, but this fresh wound emits the most tantalizing aroma, and it has leaked a bit into its bandage.

I sniff hard, drinking in the scent like ambrosia.

Storm retrieves a metal bowl and drops it at my feet. I doubt by its apparent weight that it is made of silver.

Next, Storm pulls a small bottle from his back pocket. It’s clear and filled with blood, and I put two and two together: he’s bled for me again. Does he have no other blood on hand? Or does he enjoy filling me with _his_ blood? The latter notion almost makes me forget his comment about orgasming inside my dead body.

He drops my wrists, which I still cannot lift on my own, unscrews the bottle, and pours the blood into the bowl. Instinctively, I sink toward it, but he yanks my head up by the strap on the back of the muzzle.

“Listen carefully, beast. The only way you’ll get this blood is if you lap it up with your tongue like the animal you are.”

I try to convey with my eyes that I understand him. In this moment, I care not how I’ll consume the blood but only that I’ll get to taste it.

He removes the muzzle. The relief of having my mouth free is unexpectedly dizzying, and I take a deep breath through my mouth.

Storm holds my jaw in his warm, pleasantly throbbing hand.

“Bite me and die.”

I don’t know why he sees fit to threaten me again until he slips his thumb into my mouth. His heartbeat thumping in his thumb pad connects with my tongue, and I moan. I know what biting his thumb would get me—death, if Storm’s threat is true, and not much sustenance. But I still want to do it. Especially when he strokes one of my fangs. Now I can feel his heartbeat in the nerve there, and I tremble, otherwise frozen as I fight to keep myself from lashing out at him. _Hot blood, hot blood, hot—_

His pulls his thumb from my mouth, grips my hair, and shoves my face down toward the floor. I find myself staring into the bowl of blood, which radiates far less heat than I’d like but which still smells wonderful.

“Lap it up, dog!” Storm growls.

I’ve never lapped anything, but I give it a try. Feeding straight from the source—the blood hot, the heartbeat pulsing against my lips and tongue—is a million times better than this, but I’m hungry, and I soon forget that lapping cool blood from a bowl isn’t the most natural way to feed. I keep doing it until all I taste is metal, which thankfully isn’t silver.

I don’t orgasm as I usually do when feeding, but I’m more alert afterward, probably stronger. I don’t test the strength of my arms because I don’t want Storm to see and put more silver on me.

He yanks me by the hair so I’m sitting up straighter, and I spot the knife in his hand, its sharp end pointed straight at me.

“Say thank you,” he says darkly.

Something inside me protests. Now that I’ve fed, my thoughts are clearer, and when I look down at the bowl, bone-dry because I licked it clean, disgust rises in me. I see myself as I must have looked lapping at the blood like what he called me— _dog_ —and the wrongness of this entire situation strikes me suddenly and harshly.

If this hunter only wanted to have sex with me and burn me with silver, I could stomach it. I would at least glean some pleasure. But he also means to humiliate me, using my hunger against me, and he has raped me while I was unconscious and speaks with no hesitation of doing the same to me in death.

If my sire were alive, he would be so disappointed in where his gift of life has brought me. I know he wouldn’t blame me for it, but he also wouldn’t be proud.

I have been a victim all my life, both as a human Puritan enamored with men and as a vampire.

“Say thank you,” Storm repeats, voice harsher this time.

I cannot do it.

Storm pulls me to my feet and shoves me back-first againt the wall, the metal bowl scraping and clanking as he kicks it out of the way. He puts his silver blade to my cheek, and I hiss as it burns me.

“Say it or I’ll cut off your head.”

“Do it.” The words that croak from my mouth surprise me, but they feel good. “You hardly need my head to find pleasure in my crevice.”

Storm chuckles menacingly, his hazel eyes glittering with unnatural mirth. “It speaks.” He holds me by the throat and trails the blade down my jaw, neck, chest, stomach. It leaves a trail of fire in its wake, but the pain fades quickly.

“Still want me in your ‘crevice’?” he taunts.

I think of last night, how grateful I was to have use of my legs to clutch him, how perfect his member felt settled deep inside me. Before he stopped, I’d drifted in some kind of heaven, but I had also been ignorant of the true level of his cruelty.

“No.” I stare hard into his eyes, trying to show him I mean what I claim.

Something flashes in his gaze—disappointment?“We’ll see about that.” He puts the blade on my cheek again, and I wince.

“If I leave off the muzzle while I fuck you, will you be grateful?” he asks.

I see no gain in resisting speech this time. Of course I would prefer not to wear that horrid contraption. “Yes.”

“But I won’t let you bite me.”

“You’ve made that thoroughly clear.”

“Good.”

He pulls me by the wrists once more. The most insolent part of me wishes not to cooperate. Why should I walk obediently to wherever he’s taking me? But I’ve no doubt he’d simply drag me, and that would be uncomfortable.

He takes me to his bedroom. Where earlier I was excited at the idea of taking his member, now it only makes me tired. I think I’d prefer to go back under the blanket on the hard floor.

“Get on the bed,” Storm says.

I bite back a snide comment about Storm’s sexual preference obviously involving floors and get on the unmade bed, though it’s more difficult than expected with my wrists still bound in front of me. I have to use my bound arms for leverage, and now Storm will realize I’m strong enough to lift them.

“On your back,” Storm clarifies.

I lie on my back and don’t bother holding the silver on my wrists and fingers up away from my stomach. The burn of the metal on fresh skin grounds me, pulls me out of my sour mood, and brings me back into my body.

I keep my gaze glued to Storm as he undresses, flinging his clothes onto a nearby chair but setting the silver blade carefully atop the dresser. His cock is big and hard, and I can hear his heartbeat and imagine how it will feel vibrating through me.

He crawls on top of me, pushing my arms above my head, where they sink into soft pillows. “Now that the full moon’s over, can you control your claws?”

A rush of excitement hits me at the thought of being completely free of silver. Maybe I could escape. But all I can picture is Storm grabbing that blade and pushing it into my throat, and even if I were to succeed, where would I go? I’d be alone again, back to scouring underground nightclubs for a human willing to serve me. And none of them would be willing to take me as Storm takes me.

Wouldn’t it be better to use my freedom to touch him? All that warm skin over pulsing veins…

“I asked you a question, beast.”

I meet Storm’s intense gaze.

“Scratches are fine, but no cuts. Got it?”

“Yes.”

He removes the cuffs and the gloves with their silver tips. The sudden weightlessness of my arms and hands is heady, and I wiggle my fingers, delighting in the freedom. I even feel my lips stretch into an involuntary smile.

Storm rubs my wrists with his warm, throbbing hands, and a strange combination of arousal and relaxation falls over me.

He pushes my legs up and instructs me to hold them, and I obey.

Storm glances at my crevice and grimaces. “Still have my cum on you.” He scratches around the outside of my entrance with his blunt human fingernail, and I clench against the strange sensation, which only leads to him spreading my cheeks and scratching harder.

In time, he ceases his scratching and leans down, and soon saliva drips from his lips and lands on my crevice. The warm wetness reminds me of his ejaculate, and I struggle to remain quiet and still. In a way, Storm taking me while I was covered in silver was less intense than this. I wasn’t as keenly aware of his every touch to my private place.

He spills more saliva onto my eager, sensitive skin, and I grip the backs of my thighs with more force.

Finally, he takes his swollen member, dark with blood, in hand. I’m transfixed, already imagining the bulbous head breaching me, and then it’s against me, pulsing at my entrance as Storm forces it into my crevice. The hot shaft, stiff yet soft, stretches me to the point of pain, but the vibrations of Storm’s heartbeat soothe the discomfort. He buries himself fully until I can feel the soft skin and coarse hair of his sac against my cheeks.

I wrap my legs around him and run my hands over his shoulders. Goosebumps decorate his tan skin, no doubt due to the chill of me, and I run the tips of my claws lightly down his chest to increase the intensity of them.

He shudders. “Been under humans before?”

“Yes.”

He pulls back enough that I no longer feel his sac before pushing in again, nudging me in the deep place that most cries out for his member. “Slaves?”

“Yes.”

He chuckles. “I bet they laughed at you behind your back. Little vamp hungry for human cock.”

My chest clenches; I’ve no doubt they laughed at me. I could see the boredom in them as they obeyed me, giving me their bodies but not their interest. They wished for me to dominate them, to take them as prey, but I have always felt like prey myself.

I _am_ prey—now. Storm hunted me, captured me, forced me into submission.

A rush of near painful desire courses through me, and I squeeze him with my legs. “Storm.”

“Yeah,” he grunts. He shoves my head to the side and rests his hand on my cheek, pressing down as he thrusts in a suddenly fast and harsh rhythm. My whole body jerks with each shove of Storm’s hips, and the pressure on my face hurts my jaw badly, but this satisfies something inside me. He’s touching a neglected place in my mind, rubbing it and rubbing it.

“Storm,” I say again.

“Yeah. Can’t—pretend—you don’t—want—this—cock.” His words punctuate each nudge of his member against that spot inside my channel that begs for him. I don’t feel the bed anymore. Just Storm’s skin, his heartbeat, his prick, his hands.

Abruptly, he stops his thrusting and pulls out of me, panting. He takes his hand from my cheek. “Roll over, beast.”

Without any hesitation, I turn so my stomach rests against the sheets. My neglected sex organ is all too happy to be pressed against anything at all.

I forget to be worried, scared, on edge. All I know is that Storm is going to bury himself inside me again, and he does, then drapes himself over my back. I gasp at the overwhelming sensation of hot skin enveloping me and the pain that suddenly enters my fangs, urging me to relieve it by biting him. His heartbeat is everywhere, touching me in so many places, and when he wraps his arm around me and holds me in a fierce embrace, I nearly reach my peak.

I want to taste him so badly.

He ruts against me, taking me lazily, and swipes his burning-hot tongue along the shell of my ear.

I moan loudly, no longer in control of my reactions.

“Did your slaves fuck you this good?”

“No,” I answer without thinking.

“My little vamp bitch.” He noses the side of my neck, sending me shuddering. “I’m being so good to you, aren’t I? Letting you have my cock without any silver on you.”

“Yes.”

“Say thank you.”

Remembering how he treated me in the kitchen, I hesitate.

But then Storm kisses my ear and speaks into it, voice low and gravelly and sweet. “Come on, little vamp. Show your master how grateful you are. Say thank you.”

Half mindless, I both clench around Storm’s prick and push my sex organ harder into the sheets. My nipples grow painfully rigid, something they only do when I’m very, very aroused. “Thank you.”

Storm hums. “Good little beast. Now say ‘Thank you for raping me.’”

We both know this isn’t rape. In this moment, I want to have sex with Storm more than I want anything else. I would reject even his blood if it meant I would lose the gift of his thick member lodged inside me.

But I know why he wants me to say this. I can’t articulate why, but I _know_ , and I want to. I want to. “Thank you for raping me. Please rape me more. Rape me every night.”

Storm growls in my ear, then he shoves himself into me and holds the position. I know what this means, and I drown in euphoria even before his cum fills me. I am so close to my own peak, suspended in the most intense pleasure I have ever felt, but even with Storm’s hot spend swimming inside me, and even when I rut and rut into the sheets, I cannot find release.

Storm moves, no doubt about to take his member from me, and I cry out and reach back for him. “Please no. Stay. Please!” My tears wet the bedding beneath me.

Storm grunts and lies across my back once more, his prick still filling me. “What do you want.” He speaks the question like a statement, his voice cold and distant now, so different than when he was telling me to thank him.

I need his blood, just a little bit. But if I say this, he will surely pull away because he will remember why he despises me and my kind.

“What do you want, beast.”

“I-It will displease you.”

“Spit it out. I’ve wasted enough time on you when I should be getting ready.”

I don’t doubt he speaks of another hunt. Will he bind his next victim as he bound me in my apartment? _None of your kind ever likes this._ It was something he said when he entered me the first time.

A familiar feeling cuts through my arousal and calls to mind long-buried memories of the married lover I had as a human. Suddenly, I am uncomfortably aware of the bed, Storm’s sweaty torso, his heartbeat which I will likely never get to feel against my tongue as I feed from him. He will keep me at least mildly hungry for the rest of my existence, never to feed from the source again, and how long will that be? A few more days? A month? A year? I have been here hardly two nights, and he has already mentioned multiple times how he would murder me.

“Sulking again.” Storm’s moist heat disappears from my back, and I sit up, turning to watch him. I ignore the sensation of his ejaculate oozing out of me.

He pulls on his underwear. “I asked you what you wanted, beast. Not my fault you wouldn’t tell me.”

“I wanted your blood.” I am being reckless, not watching my words, but the most insolent part of me is alive and well again. “I needed a taste to reach orgasm.”

Storm scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. You want blood to get stronger so you can fight me.”

“No. A drop or two would have made no difference in that regard.”

Storm only grunts. I expect him to put on the rest of his clothes, but he doesn’t. Instead he retrieves the silver cuffs and gloves and sits next to me on the bed. “Hold out your hands.”

“I don’t need them.”

Storm sighs. “Yes, you do. I have to sleep for a few hours, then I’m leaving you here.”

“I won’t try and escape.”

“Shut up.” He grabs each of my arms as he puts the cuffs back on, then the silver-tipped gloves. After my respite from the silver, the burn in my skin and the ache in my claws are once again intense, and in my frustration, my eyes make more tears.

Storm glances at my face, but his expression shows nothing but exhaustion. I cannot understand his treatment of me: almost affectionate when he has sex with me and then abruptly cold afterward. If the pattern of his moods stands, he will sleep and awaken bent on cruelty.

“Come on.” He tugs me back toward the kitchen, where my muzzle gleams menacingly on a counter.

“Please.” I can’t stop myself from continuing to cry. “I don’t need it. If you shackle my ankles, I won’t—”

Storm forces the muzzle onto me, and I whimper as pain blooms over my face.

“I’m tired of your fucking whining.” He pulls me roughly back to the living room and reattaches my ankle cuffs, and I become resigned. I shouldn’t allow myself to get wrapped up in him when he has sex with me. It must arouse him to force his enemy to feel pleasure; that is the only reason he allows me things like no muzzle, no cuffs, a strong arm wrapped around me like that of a lover who means to never let me go.

But I’m not Storm’s lover. I’m his prisoner, his sex slave. His “fuckhole.”

He leaves me on the floor with the blanket draped over me, and I close my eyes and imagine I am at final rest with my sire, utterly at peace in Lamia’s embrace.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storm goes on a job and comes home to find his vamp out of sorts.

_Storm_

I make sure to get everything ready for today’s hunt before I leave the bedroom. Can’t risk getting distracted by the little vamp again, no matter how much I want to go torture him. Not even fuck him, necessarily—fuck _with_ him, like when I made him lap his meal from that bowl.

As I get dressed in my police officer disguise, I smile just thinking about it. Yeah, I was a little worried he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t want my cock, but once I had it in him, he was hungry for it. Just like the other times.

I don’t have the time to play with him right now, though. I need to make sure I have all the necessary supplies: my gun, its silver bullets, and the big knife I’ll use to sever the vamps’ heads from their bodies. Today’s job’s a den invasion—with a team.

The only downside is I won’t get to rape any of the vamps before we kill them. The other guys who are part of the Crusade go by a different code than I do: (1) Find vamps, (2) kill them, (3) get paid. They hate our targets, of course, or they wouldn’t be doing the job, but I know how they’d react if they saw me in my usual routine. They’d think raping them would be going too far. They might even call me a vamp-fucker, but I’m not like the humans who go to nightclubs with self-made cuts on their throats, hoping to catch the eye and nose of a fanged freak.

My little vamp is just a reward for a job well done. In fact, I think every hunter should get one—if he’s up to par, anyway.

Before I leave, I spare a glance at my slave. Of course, he remains in the living room under the blanket and dead still. I wish I could do something to him before I left. Maybe jerk off over him so that my cum drips through the bars of his muzzle. Yeah.

But I’ve got to go meet the boys. And I need to save my energy for massacring vamps—and humans, if they don’t agree to publicly denounce their dead masters and align themselves with the Crusade. In the past, a few of the stupider slaves have argued with me about that requirement. “You still want us to be slaves,” they’ve said. I guess you could look at it that way, but the difference is that vamps want us for dinner, and the Crusade wants to keep us from becoming dinner, which in my book is a worthy cause.

I meet up with the team in an alley a few blocks from the den. This one’s based in the city, a whole apartment building full of vamp tenants. The guys and I skip the niceties and get down to business. We’ve all seen the floor plan, and we know which entrances we’ll be breaching and with which partners. A couple of us are tasked with circling the outside perimeter with salt to keep the vamps trapped inside while we slaughter them.

Not me, though. After we pull up in a couple police cars thanks to members of the Crusade in the department, I stand behind my partner, Hayes, with my gun at the ready while he works to dismantle the window at the top of a fire escape. It’s got burglar bars, which is a pain in the ass, but Hayes came ready with a sledgehammer, and though the noise alerts the vamps inside, they can’t save themselves. Once Hayes gets the bars and glass out of the way, one of the three vamps that have gathered by the window tries to grab for us, but he can’t cross the salt. I shoot him in the head with a silver bullet, and he collapses.

The other two flee back into the building, and a thrill shoots through me. This is where the fun starts.

All in all, we slaughter sixteen vamps and two slaves. The remaining two slaves agree to the Crusade’s terms, so Hayes and another guy take them to the hospital, where a friend of the Crusade will treat any wounds or deficiences they may have gotten while they were busy being vamp food.

My job, however, is done. The Crusade has another crew to do cleanup and if necessary, damage control. I spot a little girl peeking out of a window across the street and shoot her a wave. _You’re welcome._

Then I head home. By the time I get there, the high from the job has worn off a little, but I still can’t wait to play with my vamp. I didn’t get to have any fun with the targets—well, except for killing them—and I ache to release my pent-up energy.

Immediately, I go and uncover my vamp, and he’s eerily still and quiet. Is he— Is he fucking dead?!

I drop to my knees next to him and tap his cheek, but he doesn’t move. Angry disappointment rushes through me.

“Hey!” I grab his hair and force his gaze toward me.

He’s not dead. But his eyes are almost totally vacant. He seems on the brink.

I lay his head back down and reach for my blade. If I’m going to keep him long term, I’ll have to find another way to feed him, but my blood is the only thing I have for him at the moment.

Figuring he’ll need a significant drink to bring him out if this catatonic state, I cut into my wrist and hold the wound against his muzzle. My vamp coughs at first but then grows alert and stares up at me with dilated eyes, the eerie whites of his irises almost gone.

That’s better. I brush my vamp’s hair back from his forehead, the coolness of him tantalizing against my much hotter skin. Can’t wait to sink my cock into—

My vamp twists his head, almost like he’s trying to refuse more blood… But if he’s strong enough to do that with the silver muzzle still strapped to him, he’s had more than enough.

I reach in my pack for some gauze and press it to the wound. I bleed through the first piece of gauze, but I finally get the wound to clot with a second one.

Once I’m bandaged, I go for my vamp, but his eyes are vacant again. Bullshit! He must be playing dead on purpose.

I rip his muzzle away and toss it aside. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He doesn’t move or even spare me a glance. Once more, I grip his hair and yank his gaze toward me.

His bottom lip trembles, and he looks anywhere but at me.

I grit my teeth and give his head a shake. It seems he’s taking his sulking to another level. “What is this? The fucking silent treatment?”

Finally, he focuses on me, pained emotions cracking his facade. “Why should I tell you? You don’t care.”

I can’t help but laugh. This delusional little creature is truly the strangest vamp I’ve ever met. Why would he expect me to care? “I’m your enemy, a hunter. You’re my—”

“Yes, I know! I’m nothing but a hole for you to fuck, yet you expect me to cling to you, be _grateful_ —”

“Yes, grateful. I’ve been taking care of you, haven’t I?”

“No, you deprive me.” His bottom lip trembles again, his eyes welling with tears. “You tease me with your wrists against the bars, but I can’t really have you. You tease me with affection, taking my silver away, looking at me like…” He sniffles and averts his gaze. “Then you leave me alone, and you do these things with others of my kind.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. I don’t care about his tears or his pathetic whining about not being able to bite me. But jealousy? _Mmm._ My heartbeat thuds in my ears as my dick hardens.

The little vamp’s nostrils flare.

“It’s different for them,” I say. “They don’t enjoy it.”

“I don’t either.”

“Stop pretending.” I lean down and give the vamp a sniff, wrinkling my nose at the musty smell of him. I admit he smells better than a dirty human, but I’m starting to feel the tiredness from tonight’s raid and would rather fuck him in bed after a hot bath. Time for us both to bathe.

I take off his ankle cuffs and haul him to his feet by the chain on his wrists, and he’s thankfully quiet as I drag to the bathroom. But once we get to the tub, he tries to pull away from me.

“I can’t be in water.”

I give him a look. As if I don’t know every single one of his weaknesses. “You can’t be in _running_ water.” Not that it would kill him, just weaken him.

I turn on the faucet, and he gives another yank.

“Stop it.”

“Turn it off!”

“You smell! I’ll give you what you want, but we’re both getting clean first.”

“You won’t give me what I want.”

I roll my eyes and ignore him in favor of the water, which fills the bathroom with steam.

“Too hot,” my vamp complains.

I shut off the water. “Get in.”

“It’s too hot!”

Frustration burns in my chest. “Either you get in or I turn the faucet back on and force you in.”

At the threat, he pouts but then steps closer to the tub and gingerly steps in, wincing.

“Down,” I say, pushing him. “Sit.”

Once he’s seated, I let go of the chain and take off my clothes, some of which are stained with blood from the vamps I killed tonight. My slave’s strong enough to lift his hands but doesn’t try to make a run for it. Instead, he glances at me, gaze shifty like he’s trying not to, but I know he wants to look at me. He wants me so bad he’s jealous of the other vampires I rape.

My erection has flagged a bit, but it beefs up now. I fucking love when the people I fuck get jealous on me. Not that I’ve put my cock into anything but a cold hole in a long time.

I order my vamp to scoot forward, then I get in the tub behind him. He tenses when I pull him against me, and I know he can feel my hard cock.

“What do you think I do with other vamps?” I ask.

“Give them your prick,” he answers nastily.

I smile. “You’re right. Do you think you have a claim on me, fuckhole?”

He looks at me over his shoulder, gaze hurt. “Where did you go today?”

“A den.”

“Which den?”

I know my slave will never escape. He’ll never talk to another vamp or anyone else besides me. But that doesn’t mean he needs to know details. “In the city.”

“How many got to feel you inside them?” He pouts again.

I consider lying, but he’ll just sulk more. I’d still be able to get off if he got angry with me, fought me while I fucked him. But the sulking is a turn-off. “None tonight.”

His brows come together. “None?”

“It was a team job. Kills only.” I reach for my washcloth and soap. “Happy?”

My vamp doesn’t say anything.

“I asked you a question.”

“It’s by chance you didn’t. Next time you will.”

“Yes. Close your eyes.” I soap up the cloth and run it over the vamp’s face, ears, neck. Then I scoop up water with my free hand and rinse the suds off his eyes.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” he asks.

I run the washcloth over his chest, paying special attention to his nipples. “Because you get me off. But if you keep up with the little tantrums, I’ll get fed up, and I will kill you.” For the first time, the threat feels strange on my tongue, but it’s still true. I won’t keep a problem—no matter how much I like fucking it.

I keep running the cloth over his nipples, and he leans back against me. “Am I better than the others?”

That jealousy again. It makes me fucking wild. “Yeah,” I grit out.

“How am I better?”

I run the cloth down his stomach and dip it under the water to clean his little cock and testicles, and he whimpers, leaning harder against me, his head on my shoulder.

“Because you like to be raped,” I say into his ear.

“No. Not by others.”

The words unsettle me. “Others raped you?”

“Yes.”

Possessiveness burns hot in my gut, and I let the washcloth go and grip my vamp’s throat. “Who?”

“M-Men in my birth coven.”

_Men._ I would think they’d be vampires if it was his birth coven. Humans in covens obey. But I could also picture a few slaves ganging up on their coven’s weakest vampire. “Who exactly?”

“Elders.”

Vampires, then. I seethe. I shouldn’t care about monsters raping monsters, but when it comes to _my_ slave, a runt of a vampire who _likes_ being forced…

But he said he didn’t like it with them. “You like it with me,” I say, but I’m asking. And I hate that I’m asking, that I’m considering this vamp’s past at all, but the whole point of a slave is owning them. I want to _own_ his pleasure.

“I like it too much,” my vamp whispers, and he’s crying again. “You hate me. You’ll kill me.”

It’s pitiful how quickly my vamp’s broken to my will. But maybe he was broken when I found him, and I like him like this. Trembling in my arms, attached to me, jealous.

I get my washcloth again and put more soap on it. “I won’t kill you unless I have to.” I wash my vamp’s arms, take off the cuffs so I can wash his hands and claws. He’s pliant through it, though he sniffles.

I wash his back, his hole. “Stop sniffling. I’ll stay inside you tonight.”

He looks back at me over his bony shoulder, eyes full of accusing doubt. “You won’t leave me?”

I smile. “Not tonight, little vamp.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Aimeric_

I am so confused. Storm plays with my mind as well as my body, sending both of them signals I cannot read. He hurts me with silver, yanks my hair, threatens me with death, and refuses me blood from the source, which is the best part of being one of my kind. It is, in fact, everything. But now I yearn for his touch almost as much. Even when he hurts me, his touch is like heavenly nectar, and now he is bathing me, washing my hair, careful not to get any soap into my eyes. It reminds of being a human child.

Yet I am also raw, naked in a way that goes beyond skin. Storm has talked to me so much in the past several minutes, digging into the painful jealousy he aroused while inside me last. I do not want to care about who Storm touches. I should be more worried about who he kills. But I am not. I loved only one of my kind, and he is dead now.

I don’t like water and prefer to wash with a basin, but I’m finding I don’t mind it so much now that the water has cooled to a bearable temperature; I like warmth, but not searing heat. And Storm has promised not to leave me prematurely when he takes me next.

Does he lie? Will he give me the taste of him I’ll need to reach my peak? Will he keep his glorious member inside me until I’m sated?

And what will happen afterward? Will he put me back on the floor in my cuffs and muzzle?

But of course he will. That is the trick of all this. Nausea bites at my stomach at the thought of being alone and uncomfortable again, worrying about how Storm will treat me when he wakes, then where he’s gone and who will have him inside them.

Storm washes himself much faster than he washed me, and then he stands, jostling the water around us. I tense at its movement, reminded of currents and waves. But it is not true running water, so I retain my strength.

I stay in the bath until Storm orders me to stand. I know I should be obedient. Earlier, when Storm returned home, I had fallen into an emotional spiral, but he has comforted me somewhat. One might even say he has indulged me, telling me no other vampire has trembled on his member since he last touched me—if he’s telling the truth—and he has been kinder than I expected with his words and touches.

Storm wraps a towel around me. “Dry yourself.”

I obey and am soon blissfully free of water except for some dampness in my hair. It feels good to be clean. I cover my own nakedness with my towel but gaze shamelessly at Storm’s bare form, the drops of water sliding down his skin, catching in the hair on his muscled arms. My attention gets caught on a vein near his shoulder, barely visible where it’s raised under the skin.

Storm narrows his eyes at me. “How do you clean your mouth?”

Amusement makes my lips twitch. Storm seems to know so much about my kind, yet he does not know the basics. “We use salt.”

“Salt,” Storm says disbelievingly.

“Yes. We cannot cross a salt circle, but it is good for removing blood remnants.”

Storm grimaces. “Right.” He grabs a toothbrush and paste and tugs me by the arm to the kitchen. His grip is rough, but I don’t mind it as long as the silver stays away.

In the kitchen, he opens a cabinet filled top to bottom with salt containers. He takes one out and sets it on the counter. “There.”

“May I have a small cup please?” I flip up the container’s little metal spout.

Storm gives me a look but retrieves a coffee mug from another cabinet. Not exactly small, but it will do.

Storm turns on the kitchen sink to wet his toothbrush, and I wince.

“M-May I have a small”—I show him how small with the tips of my fingers—“bit of water please?”

Storm speaks around a mouth full of toothpaste. “You can get it yourself.”

“But— But running water.”

Storm rolls his eyes but snatches my mug and puts some water in it. It’s a bit too much water, but it will also do. I pour salt on top of it, then use my claw to stir it just enough to wet the crystals. Then I tip some of the mixture into my mouth and move it around with my tongue, using the tip of my claw to scrape between my teeth.

I realize moments later that Storm has finished brushing his teeth and is staring at me, squinting judgmentally.

I set the mug in the counter and swallow what is left in my mouth. “Thank you,” I whisper.

Storm points at the floor. “Get on your hands and knees.”

I glance down at the bowl he made me drink from before, still sitting against the woodwork where Storm kicked it.

“Has me being so nice to you gotten you confused? You’re my fucking slave, vamp. Get on your hands and knees, or I’ll cuff you and drag you.”

My mind goes momentarily blank, and I find myself getting down onto the floor, the grout between the tiles biting into my bony knees. I think a part of me did forget I’m a slave, but a sickening rush in my stomach brings me back fully to the reality of it.

Storm nudges my foot with his. “Crawl to the bedroom, dog.”

Not this again. After how soft Storm was in the bathtub, his demeaning me smarts worse than before, but I crawl where he bids. Better this than the cuffs or, Lamia forbid, that terrible muzzle.

In the bedroom, Storm barks, “Up,” and I stand, looking to him for direction.

He smirks, flashing a dull canine. “You hate that, don’t you?”

I don’t know what to say. If I tell him the truth, he may very well threaten worse again to teach me some lesson about being grateful.

“Maybe I’ll get you a collar and leash,” he says. “Silver, of course. Oooh, or better yet, a bit.”

A blink. A bit like for horses?

“Yeah, it’d be better than the muzzle. Don’t know if it’d fit with your fangs, but if so…” He scratches at his beard and hums deviously.

All I can think about is how terrible silver would feel actually touching my fangs. Not to mention my tongue.

Storm catches my eye and laughs. “You look horrified.”

I turn my head, focusing on a spot on the hardwood floor.

“Nothing to say?” Storms steps closer, the floor creaking under his feet. “Sure had a lot of bullshit spewing from your mouth earlier. Next time, I’ll be sure to put my cock in someone else before I get home.”

The words push a button inside me, and I glare at Storm with his amused expression. “You are cruel.”

“Won’t deny it.” He grips his cock, which is once again engorged and red.

I know it will feel good inside me, but I don’t want it. The idea of other vamps prone and chained beneath Storm takes away my desire for him. He will kill me just as my long-ago human lover tried to have done to me. He grew tired of my vicious jealousy, how I refused to keep letting him stick me with his prick if he would not stop touching his wife, and of course he would not.

“Get on the bed,” says Storm.

I don’t move.

Storm strikes me. Pain flares on my cheek, but it is nothing compared to silver.

Storm grips me by the throat and shoves me against the wall, and I hiss at him, claw his back, scent blood in the air.

“You little bitch!” Storm strikes me again, snapping my head to the side, but I keep clawing him. If this is the moment I die, I will go gladly.

He tightens his grip on my throat. If only I could have a drink from him before he sends me to Lamia.

He gets very close, touching his nose to mine. “I should cut off your hands.”

“Do it,” I croak despite his grip and even though the idea of living with only stumps makes me ill. I shove at his face, smearing his blood there, getting my claws dangerously close to his eyes.

He pushes my hand against the wall, but I use the other to decorate his other cheek, so he’s forced to let go of my throat to grip that hand too.

I crane forward and lick his face.

He shudders, then flips me so my stomach is to the wall, and I press my hands against the painted surface, smearing a little blood there too. The lingering taste of it on my tongue has me focusing hard on Storm’s heartbeat and the scent of his blood still permeating the air.

Since he has already fed me an adequate amount, this hunger is bearable and not as intense as the hungry spot inside of me begging for the head of his prick.

I have forgotten to be jealous. But he has no wife, only threats.

He shoves his cock into my crevice. With no lubrication, it burns, but as before, when he first found me, the pain drowns beneath the hot pulsing of his member as he forces me to take it. He grips my hips and pulls me back onto it, the blunt force making my body yield until he’s buried fully.

I push back, needing more sensation inside. I don’t think he can fuck me hard enough to satisfy me, but when he pulls back, then snaps his hips against me, he comes close. I delight in the roughness of his pubic hair and how he squeezes me and my prick against the wall.

Storm doesn’t thrust but ruts against me, creating delicious friction in my core. “If you didn’t have fangs, I’d make you choke on this.”

“There are veins in your prick I would gladly drink from.”

“Don’t be disgusting.” Storm reaches around me and grips my sex organ, finding the head and pushing a blunt nail into the hole I used to expel through. Perhaps he means to hurt me, but I am not as sensitive here as a human, and the touch intensifies my pleasure, turning my nipples into hardened peaks.

“You like that?” Storm’s breath is hot against my ear.

“Yes,” I breathe. Yet I silently hope for more. I don’t know how he can give me that, aside from the obvious of letting me feed from him, but I hunger. I hunger for him everywhere.

He pulls out and yanks me from the wall. “Get on the bed.”

Eagerly, I obey. The mattress creaks as Storm follows me onto it, pushing me onto my back and spreading my legs wide apart. Then he enters me again.

I stare at his throat, imagining blood spurting from his jugular and drenching us both until we are shiny and red.

“Stop it.”

I meet Storm’s gaze. “What?”

“Staring at my neck.”

“I want.” It’s as coherent as I can manage, and I stroke his neck with my claws.

Storm pushes my hands into the pillows. “No.”

“Feels good.”

“For me or you?”

“Both.”

Storm bares his teeth. “I will never give you that.”

I am beyond fear. Storm threatens and threatens, but he hasn’t killed me yet, and recklessness rises in me.

_So what if he does kill me?_ the darkest parts of my mind whisper. _I have lived enough. And my sire is gone._

“You must,” I say. Storm’s member remains inside me, but I feel it softening, and my own arousal ebbs. “Or kill me. I’m tired. I ache. Kill me.”

A deep _V_ appears in Storm’s brow. “You’ll do anything to hurt a human.”

A familiar pain splits my chest, a sick amalgamation of my resentment of this hunter, my pain at losing my sire, at losing Kira, at being taken over and over by my elders, at the faraway memories of my human life that Storm has brought back to me. “I don’t want this!” I pull back my legs and try to kick him off me.

“Stop it.” Storm pulls out of me and uses his knees to pin my legs. He still holds my wrists and has me prone on my back, so of course I am powerless. Some of my kind would be able to fight him off. My elders, for instance. But I can’t. Even with the blood he fed me earlier, I can’t.

“Kill me,” I say again, and tears well in my eyes. “I don’t want you. I don’t want you.”

“Vamp—”

“My name is Aimeric!” The name my sire gave me when he turned me. The name Storm has not even asked for.

Storm simply stares at me, and I am remindedof how my elders looked at me after they had heard me wailing in my room upon my sire’s death. He thinks I am touched, but he has pushed me here.

“If I let you go, will you attack me?”

I turn my head, despondent. “Kill me.”

“Stop.”

“You have no leverage if I don’t fear death.”

Storm lets my hands go, and I leave them where they are. He exhales and gets off of me.

When I am free of him, I turn onto my side and pull my knees to my chest. I look at the dried blood on my claws and feel nothing.

I hear Storm open a drawer and put clothing, and then he leaves. When he returns, he is eerily silent, his gaze vacant, and he takes me into his arms and carries me out of the bedroom.

A deep primal fear sinks my stomach. “You’re going to do it.”

He says nothing, but when he sets me down on the floor that is covered in a sheet of plastic, I know he’s going to do it.

I scramble onto my knees as he retrieves a large knife, its silver glistening in the light from overhead.

“Wait,” I find myself saying.

Storm lifts the knife.

“I’ll tell you the location of my birth coven,” I say as quickly as I can.

Storm stills and looks at me curiously.

“Before you kill me, I want to know that they’ll suffer. Will you grant me that?”

He nods, and I tell him the address. A peace washes over me then, and I close my eyes and wait for the blade, but it doesn’t come.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aimeric wants to bite Storm.

_Storm_

This vamp—Aimeric—isn’t like the others. I knew this with how he’s responded to me the past few days—days, but it feels much longer, and now, he’s asked me to kill him, and he…if he’s not lying, but why would he?

He’s delivered his own kind to a hunter for slaughter.

I was going to kill him. He stopped being worth fucking, throwing his biggest tantrum of all, making my dick go soft. He asked me to kill him, and I thought, why not? He’s useless if he’s so broken he can’t want it anymore, if he doesn’t even want to live. I can rape any vamp, and the whining’s a turn-off anyway. I’d rather them be angry with me, but Aimeric…

If in his last moments, he can think about making his own kind suffer, maybe he’s not useless. It’s obvious he wants me to attack his coven because his elders abused him, but how does he feel about the rest of his kind?

He closed his eyes, apparently resigned himself to death, but now he opens them and looks at me. He radiates calm now, the insanity from the bedroom gone.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

“Did every vamp in your coven rape you?”

“No.”

“But you want me to make them suffer too.”

He frowns. “You wouldn’t spare any, so I wouldn’t bother asking. My sire was the only one I truly loved, and he is gone.”

“Gone?”

“Dead.”

“How?”

A sadness creeps into the little vamp’s eyes, and he fiddles with the sheet of plastic I put on the floor to catch his blood. “My elders offered no real explanation. They said he ‘got himself killed.’ His neck was severed, so I assume hunters.”

“Yet you’d fuck a hunter and give your coven to him.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Aimeric’s slumped shoulders radiate sadness. “He’s gone. My human is gone. I have no one.”

Sympathy nudges at my chest, but I ignore it. I have no business feeling sorry for a vamp, even one as unique as this one. “When we take a den, we usually have to kill some of the slaves.” The truth, but also a test.

Emotion flickers across Aimeric’s face. “Why?”

Test passed. He cares more for the humans than the vampires. “If they’re too far gone, it’s merciful. We don’t make them suffer.”

Aimeric glances down at the plastic again. “Oh.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Are you going to kill me?” Aimeric pouts, and I look at the knife still hanging in my grip.

“Don’t you want me to?”

“I don’t want to wear the cuffs or the muzzle anymore.”

I roll my eyes. This bullshit has gone on long enough. After killing all those vamps and dealing with Aimeric’s violence and whining, I’d really like to get in my damn bed. But I still have to take care of the cuts on my back from Aimeric’s claws. Or maybe I’ll make _him_ clean the wounds. Or I could cuff him, muzzle him, put the blanket over him right here, and leave the cuts until whenever my body decides to wake up. I’m still waiting to hear from the Crusade about my next job. I had _planned_ to spend the next couple of nights in my little vamp.

Why won’t he give me what he gave me the first couple of times I fucked him? That desperation. That gratefulness. That look in his eyes like a touch. He made me come so good, but it’s like he’s too damaged now. Or maybe he’s grown to resent me. Could it be he’s just not as fun when it’s not the full moon?

I sigh. “I don’t see why I should keep the cuffs and muzzle off.”

Despite still sitting on the floor, Aimeric straightens, and anger creases his brow. “Well will you feed me?”

“I’ve been feeding you.”

“Not correctly.”

“Correctly?” I repeat tightly.

“I can’t go on without it, Storm. I feed from the vein. When you were—when you were fucking me, I couldn’t stop thinking about your blood coating my insides. I couldn’t feel good. I can’t feel good.” He fidgets, clicking his claws together. “If you’re going to keep depriving me… You killed my human. Please, I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you reach orgasm if you let me feed.”

His words are like little pinpricks to my brain. Why is he such a fucking pain in the ass? “Yeah? How would you get me off?”

His gaze, intense and defensive, flickers to my throat. “I’ll sit on your prick and feed from your jugular vein.”

I grit my teeth. That light touch of his claws to my neck earlier did feel good, but letting a vamp at my throat… It’s just stupid. And I’m not stupid.

“No,” I say.

Aimeric stares at me with insane determination. “Then I’m finished!” He claws at his own throat, sending dark blood oozing out.

Instinctively, I lunge for him and pull his hand away.

Aimeric laughs as the wounds close, the healing factor in his vamp blood doing its work. “You don’t want me to die,” he says.

My skin burns, and my heartbeat wooshes in my ears. Why did I save him? Would he even have been able to deal himself fatal damage? Vamps only die in the sun or if they’re decapitated, severing the spinal cord in the neck.

I sit back on my heels, holding the hand he used to hurt himself in a vice grip and retrieving the knife I cast aside in my hurry to save him. “I want you to want me like you did the night I found you. It’s simple.”

“I do want you.” Aimeric uses his free hand to stroke up my arm, the light touch of his claws giving me goosebumps. I should stop him, but I don’t.

Though he laughed a moment ago, dejectedness creeps into his expression again. “If you give me the knife, I’ll do it myself.”

I realize this will never end. I’ll have to kill him or let him feed from me, or he’ll keep saying these things whenever I take off his muzzle. And even if I keep him silent, he won’t look at me—won’t want me—like he did before.

And I like having a slave. I _deserve_ a slave. The vamps who—

Shoving down the memory that threatens to surface, I get to my feet. I don’t need reminding why I hate vamps. That… _incident_ changed my whole life.

But looking down at Aimeric, I can’t summon hate for him. During the full moon, he was under silver like a good boy, and I can’t imagine him doing what those other vamps did to my family. He’s weak for a vampire anyway. I doubt he’d be capable of besting me physically without a very big meal beforehand, if that.

I run my fingers through my hair, clenching my teeth as I try to decide what to do. I’m never like this. I always know. This vamp…he isn’t good for me. I glance at the clock on the mantle and can’t believe it’s already past midnight.

Aimeric watches me from where he’s lying on his back. “Will you replace me?”

I try to picture bringing another vamp home but feel only disgust. “Shut up.”

Languidly, Aimeric stands. He’s so small. If he bites me and I want him to stop, I’ll be able to fight him off. Even if I have to rip my own throat to remove him, I’ll have time to take some of his blood and heal myself. And then I’d know for sure that I should kill him. I’d know he can’t be trusted.

I look at his fangs, two tiny points peeking out from under his top lip.

“It will feel good,” he says.

“Wouldn’t you rather make it hurt? Get revenge for how I’ve been treating you?”

Aimeric shakes his head, and his mouth tilts into a satisfied smirk. “I am very attracted to you, Storm. Biting you will be a dream.”

The words light a small flame inside me. “Fine.”

Aimeric’s eyes widen. “Truly?”

“Yes. Where do you want me?”

Aimeric darts his gaze to the couch. “The sofa will do. I’m a tidy eater. I won’t get any blood on it.”

I grimace, but I’ve made up my mind now. I’ll let him do it.

I keep the knife in my grip as I go to the couch and sink into it. I got fully dressed again, ready to do an impromptu kill, but I make no move to remove my clothes now. Aimeric can do the heavy lifting this time.

He has a different energy about him as he stalks toward me, and fear turns my stomach. Been a long time since that too. What would Hayes and the others think if they saw me right now?

But they aren’t here. And they aren’t getting me off, are they?

Aimeric gets onto my lap. Immediately, my hackles rise because even though he’s gotten this close to me before, I’ve always been on top of him, always in the position of power.

He puts his forehead to my temple, his skin ice cold compared to mine.

“Thank you, Storm.” He doesn’t go near my jugular yet, instead running his claws through my hair and across my nape.

I shudder involuntarily.

“Have you ever been fed from before?” Aimeric asks.

“No.”

“Close your eyes.” His voice takes on a seductive quality, half whispered and close. “Relax into the sensations.”

I do as he asks, but I would have anyway. The continued featherlight touches of his claws lull me into a daze, though I’m sure to keep at least part of my attention on the knife handle in my grip.

“You can put the weapon down, Storm.” Aimeric noses at my cheek. “I’m making love to you. I’m not going to hurt you.”

_Making love._ He’s so full of it. “You’re about to eat me.”

“Yes, with _love_.”

I chuckle. “Stop lying.”

He laughs too. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“But this is a special feeding because you’re so scared, and you didn’t kill me, and I appreciate it so much. I’m so _grateful_ , Storm.”

His voice scratches wantonly over the last words like he’s talking about sucking cock or bending over for me, and my dick swells in my pants.

Aimeric brings his claws to my throat and very lightly teases the skin there, and I shudder again.

“Will you undo your pants for me please?” he asks.

I do it one-handed and pull out my cock.

Aimeric strokes it, his palm soft and cool against my burning skin, while he scratches harder at my neck. Eventually, I start to get numb to the scratches.

He moves his hands to my shoulders and uses me for leverage as he sits up higher on his knees. I grip my dick and line it up with his hole, and he sinks down slowly, letting out a hiss.

I lick my lips, delighting in the tight friction. “This hurt you?”

“Mm,” is all Aimeric offers, his eyes closed and brow creased. But once he’s fully seated, he looks at me. “A little, but I don’t mind.”

He runs his knuckles over my throat, teasing the spot I know he’ll bite. Then he kisses it, tongues it, and my heartrate skyrockets, my awareness boiling down to the wet patch at my throat and my cock trapped in Aimeric’s hole. I grip the knife handle tighter.

Aimeric makes a little noise as he continues to lavish attention over my jugular while rubbing at my scalp with his claws. I can’t stop myself from shaking, tingles sparking along my nerves.

The first brush of teeth—not bite yet—sends my stomach tumbling violently, and I tense.

“It’s okay,” Aimeric whispers and rolls his hips. He keeps riding me, kissing and licking my throat, and then I feel teeth again. But once more, there’s no bite.

“Do it,” I find myself saying.

“Shh.” Aimeric makes the sound against my neck, and I push up into him, trying to bury my cock deeper. I’m sweating in my clothes, and he keeps teasing me. Lips, tongue, lips, teeth… I forget the difference between fear and desire. My neck is half numb, past overstimulated. I need more sensation there, need…pain.

“Do it,” I say again, hating the sobbing sound of my own voice. I wrap my free arm around Aimeric’s unnaturally smooth form and dig my nails into him, wishing I had claws to hurt him. He deserves pain for what he’s doing to me, making me want this when I shouldn’t.

Just short of begging, I tilt my head back further and push my throat against his mouth.

Aimeric whimpers. “That’s what I was waiting for.”

Lick, kiss—

Aimeric’s teeth finally pierce my skin.

I exhale in relief. The pain barely feels like pain—an initial sting that fades quickly to a gentle burn. It hurts, but I want it, would take more, even.

I let the knife thud to the floor and grip Aimeric’s hips as I fuck into him with more purpose. I moan and grunt, moving fully on instinct, barely registering that I’m bleeding into Aimeric’s mouth. At least not until he pulls out his teeth, bringing fresh pain.

“No.” I clutch at him, trying to—trying to put him inside of me as he presses his hand into my wound and moans loudly. Fuck, he’s coming, riding me hard, his movements frantic. I can smell the metallic scent of my own blood as he pants against my cheek.

He tenses and jerks, his hole clamping hard on my cock, and I’m close.

He goes still, breathing hard, but then he rides me again, pressing into my wound with his thumb now and rubbing, rubbing. It’s less like pain and more like he’s scratching an itch, and I grit my teeth, silent as he brings me painfully close to the edge.

But then he stops. He sits up on his knees, letting my cock fall from his hole, and it twitches, my balls tightening as I almost— _almost_ —

Aimeric gets off my lap and snuggles up to my side instead, then drags his fingers up my twitching stomach, his nails catching on the fabric, leaving my desperately aching cock dark red and untouched.

I make sounds I haven’t made in a long time, but I can’t control them. I just want to come.

Aimeric presses the lightest of kisses to my open wound, delighting and torturing my nerves at the same time. “I don’t want this to be over yet,” he nearly whispers.

I can barely form coherent thoughts, but I remember his promise to get me off. “Make me come,” I order.

“I will.”

“Now.” I could grab my own dick, get myself off, but something stops me—something coiling in my chest like a parasitic snake.

“I know what will happen after this.” Aimeric runs a claw over my wound, and I jerk involuntarily. “You’ll come down from the high, and you won’t want to be bitten again, and I won’t be able to take it, Storm. I’ll cut out my own heart.”

It takes effort to listen to him, but I sense if I don’t, he’ll keep me on edge until my balls fall off. “Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit. You hate my kind. One bite’s not going to change that, but now that I’ve had you, I… You’re perfect. You’re the kind of human I’ve wanted all along, and I want to keep you. I want your blood and cum inside me at all times.”

His words crumble in my head, lost in translation. “I’ll put my cum in you.”

Aimeric brushes my cock with the back of his hand, then strokes me with the tip of one claw. My cock twitches again, and push up my hips, right on the edge—

Again, he leaves me wanting.

I don’t recognize the pitiful sounds crawling out of my throat. “Make me come.”

“Say please.”

I grit my teeth. _Please._ But I have to say it out loud to the stupid vamp. “Please.”

Aimeric chuckles. “Okay.” But he doesn’t touch my cock. Instead, he puts a hand on my cheek and tongues my wound.

Will he bite me again? But I detect no teeth. Just his smooth tongue and lips, gliding over and around and _into_ my wound.

My neck becomes my cock. He might as well be tongue-fucking my slit. Yet my cock throbs still, soaked in precum. I’ve never been so hard, so wet, and I hump the air, press my neck as hard as I can against his mouth.

My cock twitches, twitches—

I growl as I finally come, my balls emptying in obscene spurts that soil both of us.

It takes me a long time to come down. My throat is painfully dry from panting, and my neck throbs dully.

I open my eyes to find Aimeric watching me, gaze apprehensive.

“You gonna heal me?” I ask, feeling nothing but sated.

He dips his head, giving me puppy eyes—or as much as he can with horror-movie eyes like his. “You look very good with my bite. And when it aches, you’ll remember me inside you.”

Reality nudges me, showing me what I’d look like to other members of the Crusade. They won’t see me until the next team job, but the idea sours my stomach. Other images threaten to surface, but I shove them down like I always do. “Get rid of it.”

Aimeric pouts but slices his thumb pad with his claw and presses the bit of blood that seeps out against the holes in my neck. The pain disappears, both there and at my back where Aimeric scratched me earlier.

The vamp blood gives me a burst of energy, and I put away my cock and stand.

Aimeric rubs at a bit of cum on his arm, then stares up at me. “I don’t want to sleep on the floor.”

“Sleep on that couch then.” I pick up the silver knife I so carelessly let fall to the floor. But I don’t regret it, at least not in this instance. The way Aimeric bit me wasn’t the same as other bites I’ve seen—weaponized, predatory. Aimeric’s bite was…

It was great. Not that I’ll tell him that.

“I could sleep with you,” he says.

I consider the best way to confine him while I sleep. I won’t cuff him or muzzle him, if only to keep him from driving me crazy with complaints later. But I can’t give him free reign of the house.

“I’ll put a salt circle around the couch.”

“But—”

“It’s either that or the silver.”

Anger flares in his gaze.

“You wanna be in my bed in a bunch of silver?” I say it to point out how unreasonable he’s being.

But his gaze goes distant as he apparently considers it. “Yes, I’ll sleep in silver if I can sleep with you.”

_Wow._ This vamp is truly something. Maybe he’s getting Stockholm syndrome now that I let him feed. If I keep doing it, will he stay docile? Will he keep taking my cock like a champ?

“Fine. Let’s go.”

He follows me as I head to the bedroom, picking up the silver I’ve discarded along the way. From a locked truck in the bottom of my bedroom closet, I get a few extra chains. Then I have Aimeric get on the bed.

He watches me as I put on the silver, wincing whenever a new piece touches him but never complaining. After I’ve got his wrists and ankles cuffed, I attach the extra chains and wind them up his legs and down his arms, then hook the ends together at his stomach.

By now, he’s shaking, no doubt in a lot of pain, and there’s something heady about him willingly taking it all. After that vamp blood, I could fuck him again, and there’s room between the chains to get at his hole…

But he’d just be a trembling mess under me, focused on the pain instead of my cock.

“Just one more piece.” I grab the muzzle.

“I can’t move,” Aimeric says. “I can’t bite you. I don’t need it.”

“But I want you to wear it.” My dick chubs up a bit as I fit the muzzle on him. “You asked for this.” At the pitiful look in his eyes, I get a full hard-on.

I take off my cum-stained clothes and get in bed naked, leaving Aimeric on top of the covers next to me. I grab my cock and stroke myself hard and rough.

“This is what you get for edging me, little vamp.” I pant as I rapidly approach orgasm. “That’s no way to thank me after what I gave you.” I think about how Aimeric got me off, just his mouth on my bite wound, and come into a tissue.

Aimeric is completely silent, but even when I turn my back to him, I can feel how he weighs down the bed. I don’t even want to admit to myself that’s it’s comforting.


	7. Chapter 7

_Aimeric_

I open my eyes, jarred to alertness when Storm stirs. I slipped into some kind of half-conscious state while he was sleeping, weakened and weighed down with the silver. I feel even weaker now than when he first immobilized me, but I barely feel the pain. Just heaviness…everywhere.

Storm leaves. A minute later, he returns, a bottle of something in his hand. He sets it on the nightstand, then gets back on the bed and sits on his knees next to me.

He unhooks the chains at my stomach and unwraps them from my limbs one by one. The relief is incredible, heaviness giving way to glorious freedom and Storm’s warm hands as he strokes my released skin. He does this everywhere, bathing me in soft touches until the silver’s all gone.

He runs his fingers over my muzzleless jaw and lips. “Turn over for me, little vamp.” He speaks soft and low like a true lover, and somehow, I know this is my reward for taking the silver. He’s only touched me gently and given me a command, but my body buzzes with arousal, my stomach roiling with desire for him.

I turn over as told, already imagining Storm plastered to my back with his prick buried inside me.

“Spread your cheeks,” he says. “Show me your hole.”

I do this too. It’s lewd, putting such a private place on display, but after the feeding, I can’t see a reason to refuse my hunter anything at all. Despite his earlier ill treatment of me, Storm has given me pleasure greater than any human before him. I have fed from many a slave, and all of them loved the bite, but Storm was vulnerable despite himself and perfectly wanting.

The bed jostles as he moves again. When he comes close once more, his skin radiating delicious warmth, he pours something onto my hole. I look back over my shoulder.

He shows me the bottle—olive oil. “I don’t have anything else.”

“That’s all right. I’ve used it before.”

He furrows his brow, perhaps remembering that I’m immortal, but then pours the oil onto his cock.

I rest my cheek on the pillow and wait for the intrusion. The penetration is easy this time, not painful at all, and I moan loudly with no pain to hamper the sensation of the throbbing heat sliding home inside me.

This is where I belong. Lamia must have conspired with the Fates to bring about my turning just so I could be here under Storm, a vessel for his pleasure.

He lies across me, his whole body connected to mine, and it has a similar effect to the silver: I am weak, lost in his heat and heartbeat. But I am also fiercely wanting, and my nipples harden and beg for touch.

“Storm, will you be angry if I…if I ask for something? N-Not blood.”

Storm purrs against my neck and ruts into me. “Ask.”

I reach for his hand, and he lets me guide it to my chest. He understands without my having to speak again and immediately takes my nipple between his pleasantly warm fingers.

“Like this?” he asks, pinching and rubbing.

I can scarcely think but manage, “Yes.”

He runs his other hand up my side, ending at my other nipple, and soon I’m making shaky whimpers and writhing shamelessly against the bed.

Storm kisses my shoulder, then licks me there, making my skin hot and wet, and I wish we could change places for a moment so that I could be his human and he my vampire.

He keeps kissing and licking me, all while playing with my nipples until they are raw and aching. And there is still his cock, which he pumps lazily, nudging me over and over inside.

I float in a lover’s ecstacy and forget what I am, who I am if it is not Storm’s loyal and willing slave.

At some point, he stops stimulating my oversensitive peaks and pulls me onto my side. He keeps his cock lodged in my crevice and hooks his leg over me to pull me closer.

“Are you enjoying this?” he asks, voice breathy.

“Very much,” I say.

“Was sleeping in the silver erotic for you?”

It takes me some time in my pleasured state to understand the question. “In a way. I was…” My stomach gives a nervous tumble. “I was showing my…my devotion to you. You let me feed, and it was…” My stomach twists again. I shouldn’t be saying these things to my captor.

But when Storm rubs my chest, I push back into him, craving more contact in the most terrible way.

“I understand,” he says.

I don’t know why, but my eyes well. Even as I remain aroused, emotion makes me tremble, and I hold Storm’s arm, careful not to hurt him with my claws. “Did it please you? My willingness to be bound?”

I’m raw inside, needy for his approval. And it’s stupid of me, feeling like this with a hunter of all people, but I can’t help it.

Storm puts his hand on my throat, the touch commanding yet gentle. “Yes.”

Pleasure rolls through me, my body and my mind. But I need to know more. “Did my bite please you as well?” I felt him enjoy it, and of course, he reached orgasm, but does he regret it all now?

He only grunts, but after several seconds, he says, “Yes.”

I go boneless with relief. “I wanted it to be good for you. Want you to want it like I do.”

Storm slides his hand down to my chest again and rubs his palm over my nipples. “I could never want it like you do.”

“I know—”

“But if it gets us to here, I’ll keep doing it.”

 _Here._ Does he mean how docile and wanting I am? A well-behaved slave? Or does he feel this same…intensity? It’s an emotion I understand too well, coming too quickly and for the wrong man. It reminds me of my married lover of long ago.

“Are you hungry now?” Storm asks.

“Yes,” I say even though I could go hours longer. Better to get lost in Storm’s blood than my memories.

He presses his wrist to my mouth. The force of the gesture shoves away any notion of teasing his skin first. I simply bite, and his blood seeps into my mouth, coats my tongue, slides down my throat.

Storm rolls us so I’m back on my stomach, but his wrist stays against my lips, and I suck and moan and push back into Storm’s prick as he humps me and cries out, the sound pained and beautiful.

“Look what you do to me,” he says, voice smooth and rough at the same time, and I lick at the bite holes I made, pushing the tip of my tongue into them. Storm’s breath comes hot and heavy.

“Take me,” I say, the pressure inside me building and begging for Storm to go harder. I claw my side and use the blood to heal his wound, then guide his hand down to my member.

Storm complies with both my requests, fucking me with increased intensity and pulling on my prick. I clench around him, trying to bring him more pleasure, and his grunts and groans are like food to me. I’m so close to reaching my peak. Yet I need something more, something my pleasure-soaked brain refuses to name for me.

Storm grips my hair and tilts back my head. “Am I taking good care of my fuckhole?”

The words are like another touch but to my brain. “Yes.”

“If I broke the salt perimeter, would you run?”

The truth rises in me, sick and undeniable, and I offer it as a sacrifice, my stomach churning with desire and trepidation. “No.”

“I believe you, fuckhole.” He spits on my cheek. “Fucking pathetic.” No longer playing with my prick, he reaches toward the menacing pile of discarded silver at the edge of the bed. I barely have time to process what he’s doing before he’s pressing the muzzle to my face.

I gasp and come violently, crying out into the cruelly burning bars. Storm growls and fills me with his spend.

After several moments of lying on top of me, breathing heavily, and holding the muzzle snug to my face, Storm removes the silver and laughs. “You do get off on it.”

“No.” I hate the muzzle. “Perhaps the cuffs, but—”

“You can’t lie to me, little vamp.” Storm doesn’t move, his prick and cum remaining inside me. He even continues to hump me, keeping my nerves awake, bidding my body not to rest. “I usually hate having vamp blood in me, but I like the energy boost. Could fuck you for days. Would I even need to eat?”

I recall slaves in my birth den disappearing into elders’ rooms and coming out days later looking like walking corpses.

“You wouldn’t have to eat or sleep,” I say.

Storm hums and finally moves, his prick slipping out of me. But a moment later, he has me on top of him, impaled once more as we sit face to face. He strokes my cheek, gaze locked with mine, and my chest clenches.

I adore this.

“You’re getting attached, aren’t you?” Storm asks.

The question puts a cruel crack in my awareness, shoving reality into my pleasurable bubble. Attached? Well, yes. I can’t deny it. But I shouldn’t be feeling any kind of affection for Storm. He is my captor, a man who hates me and wishes everyone like me dead. Only hours ago, he was poised to behead me—at my request, yes, but he has threatened it enough.

If I were human, my cheeks would be burning fiercely. “What is the answer you want?” I ask.

Storm’s expression is unreadable. “The truth.”

“I’ve already told you I wouldn’t run.”

“I know. And you’ve shown me how jealous you are.” He strokes my jaw, and I turn away from the touch.

How dare he remind me of what he does outside this house?

“Aimeric.”

Reluctantly, I look at him.

“What do want me to do to the vamps in your coven?”

My mouth becomes even dryer than usual, and Storm’s cock suddenly feels uncomfortable inside me. I try to get off him, but he forces me back.

Panic skitters under my skin, making me tense all over, and I push at Storm’s shoulders. “I can’t talk about them while we’re doing this—”

“Okay, okay. Shh.” Storm pets me like a scared dog, but it feels good. His hands are a bit rough—from all that hard work slaughtering my kind, no doubt—and I pretend he builds houses or furniture or some other useful thing. Perhaps after I left my coven, it was him I met instead of Kira, and now he looks after me. He’s my human.

The fantasy and Storm’s touches soothe away my panic, and I swallow and shyly meet his gaze.

“You like kisses?” he asks.

The absurdity of the question makes me smile. “Of course.”

Storm cups my face and leans in, brushing his nose against mine. I part my lips, anticipation making my chest tight. Never would I have thought—

Oh, his lips feel wonderful. And his tongue meeting mine, then sliding over my fangs. He licks the point of one, makes himself bleed, and I whimper and suck on the pliable muscle.

Fresh arousal hurdles through me as Storm pushes me onto my back. He forces my hands above my head and stares down at me, his pupils enlarged. I can feel his desire like extra hands pleasuring me.

“From now on, I’ll try and keep you happy.” He thrusts into me, slow and easy. “Take care of you.”

The words are my fantasy come true, but they smart. How can he be telling the truth? He is lying; it’s a trick. “Please don’t say these things.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t mean them.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“No.” I tell myself to stop arguing, but I have to expose his trick. He’s lying; he’s playing with me. This is another form of torture. “You’ll tire of me and leave me on the floor, hungry and hopeless, and—”

“No—”

“You’ll couple with other v-vampires. You’ll hurt me. You’re hurting me.”

A flash of cold rage, a raised hand. Storms slaps me hard, making my head snap to the side and pulling a gasp from me.

“I’ll do whatever I want to you.”

I choke on air. “Th-There he is. The hunter who wants to kill me.”

He grips my chin and forces me to look at him. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”

“And you’d be burying your prick in my lifeless corpse, right?”

Storm scoffs through his nose. “I only said that to fuck with you.”

I search his gaze, trying to see if he’s telling the truth. “Did you really— When I was unconscious?”

“Yes, and it was boring.” He softens his harsh hold on my jaw in favor of thumbing my mouth gently. “I much prefer you here with me.”

Storm is obviously a very good liar. But these claims feel truer than his promise to keep me happy. Of course he would be bored with me asleep; whenever I stop being interested in our sex, he becomes annoyed with me. In fact, those are the moments he has cast me aside, but if he feeds me, I will always be interested.

“All right,” I say.

“As for what I do on the job, I won’t stop.” He shifts, and his prick slips out of me, finally soft.

Fear clenches my stomach; will he be angry now? But he only lies on his back, beautiful body stretched out lazily, his arm behind his head and his gaze fixed on me. His muscled tan form would fit well in an Ancient Roman setting; he’d wear a white toga, and I’d feed him grapes.

I sit up and cross my legs, and with a nervous glance at Storm, I reach for a tissue on the nightstand and clean his cum from my hole.

He watches me but says nothing. When I crumple up the tissue and look around for a trash can, Storm takes it from my hand and sets it aside.

“It’s not ‘coupling,’” he says, “what I do with my targets.”

Words pile up behind my lips—words that would surely ruin the rapport Storm and I have built. About how I _am_ attached to him but _despite_ the fact he’s a hunter. He slaughters my kind, and I don’t mention it, let alone demand that he stop. Why can’t he give me this one thing? Aside from his blood, of course, and this…curious freedom. The only reminder that I’m not here of my own volition is the pile of silver still sitting at the edge of the bed.

“It is coupling,” I say.

“It’s punishment, violence. It’s not this.” He gestures between us, and my mind spins. What is “this”? How am I to feel? What must I do to demolish this distraught affection caging my heart?

I look down at my naked legs. “You have taken apart my mind. I scarcely know how long I’ve been here.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

But time must matter. Something must matter to me besides Storm.

“Get your cuffs and come here,” Storm says. “Just the wrist ones. I’m not going to leave you on the floor,” he adds.

I do as he says, hissing when I grip the silver and it burns my hand. Quickly, I scurry across the bed and deposit the silver into Storm’s hand.

He holds out his arm and gestures toward his oblique. “Cuddle with me.”

I meet his gaze, feeling once more like he’s playing a trick. Cuddle? I didn’t even do that with the slaves in my birth coven.

Storm’s eyes crinkle. “Why do you look like you hate the idea?”

“I don’t. I just…” _…feel utterly awkward._ But I lie down against his side anyway. It’s different than when he’s on top of me. Instead of wanting, I just feel…calm.

He puts the cuffs on my wrists. I wince and whimper at the pain, and Storm makes shushing sounds into my hair. This, too, is different—uncomfortable but somehow indulgent. I whimper again simply to be comforted, and Storm pets down my arms.

“Good little vamp taking your silver for me.” The words are condescending, but they feel good, a confirmation that I’m fulfilling my purpose. I’m a slave now, but I’m not completely powerless. I’ve gotten what I wanted so far: Storm’s blood straight from the vein, a soft place to rest, pleasure and more pleasure. In time, perhaps I can convince him to stop coupling with his prey.

If he did that, I would have no more complaints. He can kill every other vampire for all I care.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storm and Aimeric grow more comfortable around each other.

_Storm_

I spend three days and nights in bed with Aimeric. It’s heady finding new ways to really flip him, to get him needier and needier for me. At some point, he becomes unable to handle not touching me, whimpering whenever I leave the bed, and when I come back and start fucking him again, he thanks me without having to be told.

I drink more of his blood than I should—than I’d ever admit to anyone—and I let him bite me and claw me as much as he wants. In between rounds, I get into his head, making him admit things. He tells me he feels “unhinged” and that he’s worried he’ll break when I go to work next. He says he’s never done this before—kept a human in bed for days—and I remind him he’s not keeping me because I’m keeping him, and if he ever even hints at the idea of escaping, I’ll chain him up in the basement and never take off his muzzle again or even put my cock in him.

At that, fear flashes in his eyes. “Would you still feed me?”

“Of course. I’ll want you alive and suffering, but it’ll be through the muzzle only.”

“Would you still talk to me?”

“No.”

“Would you touch me?”

“I’ll wear gloves.” Because he’s confessed how he can feel my heartbeat whenever I touch him.

He trembles and crawls on top of me, kissing my neck, stroking those nails over my scalp, and I get so hard so fast I get dizzy.

“I’ll never leave,” Aimeric whispers over and over, and an uncomfortable feeling shudders through me. _If you leave, I don’t know what I’ll do._

But it’s just a lapse in judgment, a stray thought under the influence of pleasure. I don’t need anyone, let alone a runty vamp.

I fuck him hard with anger as my only feeling.

When the fourth morning comes, I drag us both to the bathtub. The water turns pink with the traces of my blood left from all the wounds, and I turn on the faucet just to mess with him.

Aimeric goes limp against me, and his eyes get droopy, and when he speaks, it’s rough and almost too quiet to hear. “Please…turn…it…off…”

“I will. Eventually.” The rush of power I had when I first brought him home comes back, and I letit take me over. My cock throbs, but I don’t fuck him. Instead, I force him down into the water and put his face under the faucet, and he becomes lifeless, eyes closed, face slack, limbs boneless. When I pull him out, he moves his mouth but can’t seem to make words.

I turn off the faucet.

He coughs and stares daggers at me. “Why?” he croaks.

“Because I wanted to.”

He looks at me for a long time, anger turning to something softer. “Okay.”

I grab the wash cloth and shove it at him. “Wash me.”

He does, and I thought it would make me feel powerful, but instead, it’s like a feral cat is scratching around in my chest. All the injuries he gave me and all that disgusting cold blood have done a number on me. Even the strongest people can suffer from exhaustion, and though my body has been healed over and over, I’m emotionally drained.

Aimeric kisses me on the cheek. “I like this.”

“I don’t.”

He’s soaped up every part of me by now, but he goes over my chest again. “My taking care of you?”

I don’t answer. I don’t want to know the answer. I need to get my vamp that silver cage I promised him and lock him away for a while, muzzle those fangs that feel so good splitting my skin.

I wonder if Aimeric would be up for fucking me. I haven’t bottomed in a long time, but I had a boyfriend in college who would get really excited when I’d let him.

A long time ago. Before I even knew vamps were real.

But now I’ve got one for a slave. And if I want him to fuck me, I can have that. He’s my prize for all that awful shit I can’t even think about—I _won’t_ think about it.

“Are you all right?” Aimeric asks.

“I’m fine.” I nudge him off me. “Get yourself clean.”

I expect pouting, but Aimeric obediently obeys. Maybe he’s emotionally exhausted too, but those eyes pierce me whenever he glances my way.

I wish I didn’t have to worry about confining him somehow before I sleep. Maybe it doesn’t matter; if he wanted to kill me, he’s had plenty of chances, and if I needed to, I could still fight him off. And there’s still the salt perimeter around the house to keep him from running.

“Think you can put new sheets on the bed without shredding them?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“The closet in the hallway has clean sheets.”

Aimeric finishes washing himself, then scoops up handfuls of water to rinse the suds from his glistening shoulders.

“Go change the sheets,” I tell him.

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Now?”

“Yes. Go.”

He stares at me for a few more beats. “You’ll lead me?”

“No. I think I’ll soak in here for a bit longer.” I give him a dismissive wave. “Go. Be a good slave and do what you’re told.”

Aimeric doesn’t move. “Storm—”

“Go!”

Aimeric’s lashes flutter, and he looks down at the water and paws it, making gentle splashing sounds. “Please, I’d rather not.”

An inkling of pleasure winks in my chest. “Still can’t handle being away from me?”

He only frowns.

I was trying to see what he’d do with the headstart. Maybe grab a weapon and wait to pounce on me? But maybe I’ve really broken him and he’s no longer a threat.

That’s a dangerous, naive line of thinking, though.

I get out of the tub. “Up,” I tell Aimeric, and he obeys. We dry off, and I show him the closet with the sheets in it. It’s kind of adorable how he has to hold his hands to keep from clawing the cotton, but he manages it. I end up helping him, but only because I want it done quickly.

Once the bed’s made, I sit on the edge, dressed only in my underwear, as he hovers a foot away—still naked, of course.

He looks at me warily.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ll chain me now?”

“Is that what you want?”

He hugs himself. “No.”

“Then what do you want?” I cross my arms and wait for his answer. I bet he’ll say something mushy like he wants me to hold him while I sleep. But _vamps_ don’t sleep, and the idea of him having full use of his limbs while I’m incapacitated makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Does it matter what I want?”

What kind of a question is that? If it didn’t matter, I wouldn’t have asked him! And I wouldn’t have let him put his little fangs in me over and over again. Wouldn’t have let him heal me with his disgusting blood over and over again.

I get to my feet and advance on him. He backs away but not quickly enough, and I grip his face, enjoying the way my nails dent his skin.

“If you haven’t figured out by now that it gets me off to see _you_ get off, then you’re short on brain cells.”

“No one will get off while you sleep!”

I use my hold on his face to shove him against the wall, then rear back and slap him. The smacking sound and the way his head snaps to the side satisfy me to my core.

“You’d better show me some respect, slave. You’d better be fucking grateful for what I gave you.”

I grip his face again, and he trembles.

“You threw your suicidal little tantrum, and I let you drink my blood. I let you do it I don’t even know how many times in the past seventy-two-plus hours, and I made you come more times than that. You should be treating me like a king.” I spit on his cheek.

Tears well in his eyes, and my cock twitches.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it!” he yells.

“What the fuck are you talking about? You don’t follow orders for shit!”

“I don’t want to follow orders!” His white eyes are as sharp as ever despite the tears in them, and there’s something delicious about that.

I lick my lips. “Don’t want to follow orders, huh?”

“Correct,” he says petulantly.

“You’d rather I make you do what I want?”

He hesitates, then nods. “Or ask,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

 _Ask._ Like he’s my boyfriend and not a monster I found.

He sniffles. “I am grateful, though. For the blood and how you…”

I wipe my spit from his cool cheek. “How I fucked you?” He gets warmer when be drinks my blood, but it’s been at least an hour since the last bite, his last orgasm and mine.

He nods again, bottom lip quivering.

I lean in close and speak softly against his ear. “What do you _want_ , Aimeric? Right now?”

It takes a few seconds for him to answer. “I want to lie with you. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“And I would—I would feed from you if you’d like. It would help you sleep. If-If I don’t heal you afterwards.”

I pull back and look into his eyes, hating how my throat tingles at the mere mention of his teeth in me. I shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea of him putting me to sleep with his fangs. With me relaxing into the bite like that, he could easily drain me. “It would help me sleep? _That’s_ why you want to do it?”

“Yes, you’re… I’ve pushed your body too far, I think. Too much healing.” He swallows and touches my cheek. “You need to sleep.”

He’s right. I feel like I’ve taken a downer and an upper at the same time—exhausted but wired. I narrow my eyes. “Can’t be healthy to lose more blood.”

“But you’ve been healed. It’s only your mind that needs rest, Storm. Please…” He drags his nails down my throat, making me shudder. “Let me take care of you. You’ve been so good to me these past few nights.”

I ignore the almost painful desire for the sting of his fangs sinking into my throat. “You do understand that if you kill me, you’ll starve to death?”

He scrunches his brows together. “I’m not—”

“Just fucking listen, Aimeric. This needs to sink in.”

He pouts but nods.

“If you kill me, the salt perimeter will keep you confined to the house, and there’s no blood except for mine. The only people who’ll come looking for me are other hunters, so there won’t be anyone to break the perimeter for you. They’ll just kill you. Your only hope will be a strong gust of wind or something, but I can tell you, this house isn’t drafty.” I poke him hard on the forehead. “Do you get it?”

He rubs at where I poked him, gaze hard. “Yes.”

Maybe it’s stupid, but I decide to trust him. And it’s true what I said; he would starve without me.

“Okay then.” I go over to the bed and plop down. My limbs are buzzing, and I wiggle my toes, unable to keep still.

Aimeric stalks toward the bed, a predatory look in his eyes that makes my stomach flip. He crawls on top of me, straddling my hips, and runs his hands up my arms. The cool temperature of his skin makes mine break out in goosebumps across my shoulders and upper back. My cock hardens; at this point, the reaction’s Pavlovian. I want his teeth in me, as deep as they’ll go…

I throw my head back. “Do it now.”

“Shh.” Aimeric pets my jaw. “It’ll hurt if I rush it.”

“Don’t care if it hurts.”

If anyone with the Crusade could see me now, they’d be sickened. But I don’t care anymore. Something hollow inside me calls out like a wound. Maybe it’s _the_ wound, and I shouldn’t let Aimeric play with it, but… God, the arousal gathering in me is immense.

Aimeric breathes through his mouth and moves his hips on me, rubbing his dick against my Lycra-covered one. It feels good, but it’s not enough.

“Stop teasing me.” I put as much fire into my eyes as I can. “You’re _mine_. You do what I say, and I say bite me. _Now_.”

Aimeric’s gaze snaps up onto mine, a naked heat in it different from the other times I’ve turned him on. Usually, he’s reacting, in pleasure but yielding. Now, I feel his power.

“Yes, master,” he says.

My whole body tingles, and I get lost in his stare. Then he yanks it away and sinks his teeth into my throat.

I cry out at the sharp, throbbing pain of it, but it scratches my itch. I put my hand in his hair and grip the inky strands, aiming to make his scalp burn.

He moans into my wound and shudders, and I know he’s come. But he keeps drinking, and my eyelids droop—despite the near painful pressure in my groin.

He stops feeding and licks me, his tongue lukewarm and half dry like a cat’s.

“Get me off,” I say, my voice rough and distant under the blood rushing in my ears. My every nerve is begging for stimulation. I want him to bite me again—anywhere, everywhere. A pitiful whine sounds, and it’s a second before I realize it came from me.

“Shh.” Aimeric sits up and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. My blood smears across his pale skin, a faint red smudge from the corner of his pretty mouth.

He crawls down, ends up with his face over my groin, and I tense.

He looks at up me, white gaze sure. “I won’t hurt you, master. I’m following orders.”

I manage a grunt but don’t really believe him until he takes out my cock and licks it. He presses his tongue tight to the shaft and moans, and I know he’s feeling my heartbeat as I can, throbbing through my whole groin.

I spread my legs wider and try not to think about his fangs grazing my most sensitive skin, but my mind goes gooey as he licks me some more. Then he presses his tongue hard into my slit, and my thighs tremble.

He drags his claws along my inner thigh before pushing himself lower on the bed. Will he lick my balls now? But his mouth connects with the thigh he stroked, and my slow brain puts it together just before his fangs breech me.

I moan shamelessly, my balls pulling up tight as he sucks the fresh wound. I touch the one on my neck, rubbing the holes with the pads of my fingers, and I’m almost there. Almost, almost—

He grips my cock, strokes the head with his thumb, and I come. He doesn’t pull out his fangs until my balls are empty.

An ache settles in my spread thighs, but I don’t move them, still trying to catch my breath. My wounds throb, and I revel in the pain—like from claw marks and bruises after a particularly rough job.

Aimeric crawls up to hover over my face, his irises thin white lines. “Did I please you?”

“Mmm.”

He kisses me, and I give him my tongue, intentionally cutting myself on his fangs.

He pushes me back, claws digging into my shoulders. “You must stop.”

“Why’s—” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “Why’s that?”

“Because if I lose control, you’ll hate me again.”

What remains of my cloud of pleasure dissipates. He’s right. If he loses control, tries to kill me, I’ll have to put him down.

An image of his lifeless body floats behind my eyes, and I push him off me. “Thanks for the reminder.” I get up and go to the kitchen for a glass of water, focusing my senses on my surroundings as I do during a job. Aimeric doesn’t follow me, but he doesn’t try to escape, either.

When I get back to the bedroom, he’s got his cuffs and muzzle next to him. “Will you—”

“Yeah.” Exhaustion weighs on me as I fit the cuffs around his wrists, but he doesn’t fight me, even leaning on my shoulder as I do it. He doesn’t even whine when I put on the muzzle, though I feel him tense against me.

Having just fed, I know he he can lift his arms and move his head easily, but he closes his eyes and stays propped up against me as if he’s exhausted.

I pull him down onto the mattress with me and snugly secure him as the little spoon, my arm draped over him and my nose in his hair. He smells like my shampoo, crisp and masculine.

Despite the throbbing pain in my neck and thigh, my eyelids turn to anvils, and my limbs seem to sink into the mattress, down, down, down…


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor puts Storm and Aimeric on alert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I actually updated this. Thanks for all the comments <3.

_Aimeric_

I lie next to Storm while he continues to sleep. The blackout curtains over the two bedroom windows keep us bathed in constant darkness, but I’ve become well enough acquainted with them to notice that the slight glow behind them has disappeared, signifying it’s past nightfall. Storm has been asleep for roughly ten hours, but his heartbeat is steady, and his breathing is even.

A few times, he has shifted so that his back is against my back, but now, once again, he holds me like a lover, his warm, muscled arm draped over me. I wish I could enjoy it. I wish my mind would quiet, but worry clogs my chest.

Storm let me take him so far for so many hours, and with pleasure, I cowed the part of him that hates me. When he wakes, will that side of him return? Will it seek to punish me—kill me? I can’t be sure another tantrum will work on him once he takes a hard look at himself and then blames me for what we did.

And the monstrous part of him has already peeked out with that little cruelty he dished out in the tub. He put my face in the running water because he was already regretting it, even if only on a subconscious level.

I look down past my muzzle at the silver cuffs clamped around my wrists. What if he could stop hating my kind? What if he could—

The sounds of an engine and tires on gravel cut through my thoughts.

Someone’s here.

The engine cuts off. Footsteps. Knocking. But Storm doesn’t stir. He said the only people who would come here are other hunters.

Better the hunter I know.

“Storm,” I say through the muzzle. With how much blood I’ve had, I’m strong enough to speak with it on, and I also nudge him with my elbow. “Storm!”

He jerks and bolts up. “Fuck,” he breathes as yet more pounding sounds. “Wait a minute!” he shouts. He doesn’t meet my eyes as he grabs me and drags me over to a closet, which he opens and shoves me inside of so I’m sitting on the carpet, his clothing nudging my shoulders and head.

“The bites,” I say. If it’s a hunter at the door, Storm won’t want them to see the scabbed-over bite as his neck. They can’t see, or Storm will definitely kill me. They’ll both kill me.

Storm grabs a blade from somewhere and nicks my arm, and I whimper at the pain of the silver breaching my skin, retreating as far back as I can into the modestly sized closet.

“Be fucking quiet,” Storm says before licking the blade. Then he crouches in front of me and finally looks me in the eyes, pressing the tip of the blade under my chin. “If anyone sees any sign of you, we’ll both be in deep shit, and I’ll have to kill you whether I like it or not.”

“I know,” I whisper.

Something like worry slips into Storm’s gaze before he stands and closes the closet door, bathing me in complete darkness. I follow his movements with my ears: footsteps, creaking floorboards, running water.

Then Storm answers the door. “Hayes.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“I was sleeping, obviously.”

“Didn’t you notice me fucking calling you?”

A pause. “No. Phone must be dead, sorry. I’m not feeling great—” Movements, grunting. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I gather the visitor has tried to come inside.

“Checking on you,” he says. “The Crusade sent me. Said you didn’t respond when they— Is that blood?” More movements, more grunting, but this time they’re followed by footsteps coming closer. “You been out hunting off books again?”

“It’s none of your fucking business what I do on my own time, and it’s not the Crusade’s business—”

“It’s their business if you’re dodging jobs!”

The men come dangerously close to the bedroom before there’s shuffling and a thud. Storm must be holding Hayes against the wall. “Don’t fucking go in there.”

“What am I gonna see if I do?”

“It’s none of your—”

“Yeah, none of my business. Except I told you the Crusade sent me, and I’m going to have to report that you’re being suspicious as fuck. Unless you wanna tell me what’s going on? Maybe I can help.”

Storm growls. There’s a long pause before the footsteps start up again, barreling toward the closet. Storm flings open the door and yanks me out, and my stomach gives a violent flip.

Storm drags me out of the bedroom and drops me on the floor in front of the stranger.

“Holy shit.” The corners of the stranger’s mouth lift. “What the—”

“I’ve been pumping him for information about his birth den.”

“Yeah?”

“He says they used to rape him, and he wants me to kill them.”

The stranger crouches, and I flinch. The delighted look in his eyes chills me. “Did he give you the location yet?”

Storm only hums.

“So why haven’t you killed him?”

Storm doesn’t say anything.

The stranger stands, looking past Storm and me into the bedroom, and I curl my toes.

“Probably some blood on the sheets too, huh?” he says. “Really been _pumping_ him for information, I bet.”

“Fuck off, Hayes.” Storm grips my shoulder, digging his nails in. “I’ll let you have a go if you keep this between us.”

Hayes chuckles. “Nah. He’s not my type.” He takes a step back and crosses his arms, tapping his elbow with black-nailed fingers. “Pretty dangerous for you to keep him by yourself though.”

“He’s a runt.” Hearing Storm use the word my elders did stings. “Even when he’s just fed, I’m stronger than him.”

“What’s your plan? You just gonna keep him here?”

“Why not? I’ll keep him till I get bored, then I’ll get rid of him. Or maybe I need to go on the run.”

Hayes’s brows furrow.

“Maybe I need to shut your mouth for good and split,” Storm says, voice dangerous. “This vamp isn’t the only runt here.”

Hayes frowns deeply, but I’m in agreement with Storm: the man’s small. “You don’t need to fucking threaten me, Storm.”

“Just making sure we’re clear.”

“Yeah, we’re fucking clear. As long as we tell the Crusade about this den ASAP. I don’t need them thinking _I’m_ shady because of _your_ bullshit.”

Storm’s grip on my shoulder softens. “Fine. I’ll call them right now.”

Hayes points at Storm’s chest. “And tell them you want me on that mission.”

“Sure.”

Hayes smirks down at me, gaze cruel. “Always suspected you were a vamp-fucker.”

“Fuck off, Hayes.”

“Yeah, you said that already.” As Hayes walks toward the door, he throws back a middle finger, then he slams the door on his way out.

Storm exhales, but the tension doesn’t leave my shoulders. What if Hayes doesn’t keep his word? What if Storm decides I’m not worth the trouble? Would he really have let Hayes “have a go” with me? Does he really see me as “runt”?

But of course he does, and of course he’d share me. I’m just his fuck hole, one in a long line of my kind that he’s put himself inside of. And he _will_ get rid of me when he gets bored. Which might very well be soon considering I’ve already given him everything I have to offer.

My whole body aches, and I think of making it worse, clawing my throat again and trying to empty myself of blood.

Storm pulls me back into the bedroom and tosses me onto the bed. I brace myself, ready to be used, but he plugs in his phone instead, which apparently is dead like he told Hayes. Then he takes off my cuffs and muzzle and lies on his back, watching me with an unreadable gaze.

The silence weighs on me like a wave overtaking us both, and I make fists, letting my claws tear at my palms.

Storm gaze cuts to my hands, and he sits up, pulling my fingers out of the wounds. “No need to look so worried,” he says. “I saved our asses.”

“Will he keep his word?”

“Yeah. Just be glad it was Hayes they sent. He’s probably outside jerking off over the thought of another den invasion.”

I realize I haven’t heard Hayes’s vehicle leaving and grimace.

Storm chuckles half-heartedly and lets my hands go. I can’t help but search him for signs he’s about to turn on me again, maybe take me to the kitchen and make me eat out of that bowl. It’s only a matter of time.

“What?” Storm asks. When I stay silent, he growls. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No demands? No complaints?” He leans closer, and I tense. “No threats to hurt yourself?” he asks.

“No.” I swallow. “But…” Under Storm’s scrutiny, my chest fills with tight emotion. “I want to hurt myself.”

He grips my face, searching my gaze. It hurts a little, but his harsh touches don’t scare me anymore. What I’m afraid of is whatever is going on inside his turbulent hunter’s head. And what might happen. What if our hours of feeding and sex were the last time I feel truly happy?

He pushes me onto my back and gets on top of me, and my stomach tightens.

“Why do you want to hurt yourself?” he asks, hovering over me with his hands on either side of my head.

I know I should act grateful, that airing my complaints could make everything worse. But I’ve gotten what I wanted so far by complaining, and Storm’s asking. If I don’t answer him, he’ll fed up and put me back in the silver, leave me under a sheet on the floor.

“My elders used to call me ‘runt,’” I say. “You called me this.”

Storm dips a hand between my legs and strokes up my inner thigh with his hot, throbbing fingers. “I was putting on a show for Hayes.”

“You offered to share me with him.”

“I own you. If I want to share you, I will.”

My lip tremples again, and I press my lips tight together in a futile attempt to stop it. I don’t want anyone else to touch me. Only Storm, and the fact that even want that… He was right to make fun of me for wanting him the first night, when it _was_ rape. I was out of my mind because of the moon. He might as well have been one of my elders.

But I don’t believe my own reasoning.

Storm taps me on the cheek. “You’re thinking too much, runt.”

“D-Don’t call me that.”

He grips my hair, and lying fully on top of me, he speaks against my ear, his short beard scratching me. “I can call you whatever I want, little vamp. Runt. Fuck hole. Slave. Trash. Whore.” He wears sweatpants and a T-shirt, but his warmth still covers me, his heartbeat thudding through me. He kisses my ear, and I shudder. “Repeat this back to me,” he says. “‘You can call me whatever you want, Master.’”

It’s as if he’s poised to claw into my head, but I’ve got one last weak fortification. And I can’t bear to let it crumble. I will not allow him to call me what my abusers called me. “Why do you insist on breaking my will? You said you don’t want a dead body. You said giving me pleasure gives you pleasure.”

He lifts himself, staring down at me with hard eyes. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”

I stare back at him defiantly. “You are agitated because you’ve had my blood.”

He grips my throat. “I’m _agitated_ because I shouldn’t give a fuck whether you live or die. I shouldn’t be so distracted by a _monster_ that I forget to charge my fucking phone. I shouldn’t…” He flicks his gaze to my fangs, and a throb goes through them in answer.

Another tense second, and then he leaves me, his touch disappearing completely. He sits on the edge of the bed with his back to me.

I rub at my throat. “Don’t you have a phone call to make?”

“Shut up,” Storm says. But then he grabs his phone, and numbly, I listen to him give the location of my birth den to the people who would love nothing more than to see my entire species annihilated.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Brief descriptions of photos of dead bodies.

_Storm_

The Crusade tells me they’ll send scouts to verify my intel but only after scolding me for failing to remain in contact with them. The identities of those at the top are protected, and I don’t know how close the woman on the phone is to them, but she sounds fed up enough as she relays the message. Anger burns inside me as I listen, but it’s not anger at the Crusade or anyone who works for them; it’s anger at myself for slipping up.

“It won’t happen again,” I tell her.

The call ends, and I notice I’m gritting my teeth too hard when an ache goes through my jaw. The little vamp was supposed to be a gift to myself, a sexual treat, and I want to bury myself inside him even now. But I let down my guard. I let him into my head. I got careless.

I don’t want to open the lockbox in my mind, the one that holds my reasons for joining the Crusade in the first place. But I have to. I have to remind myself why I do what I do, why I can’t get distracted again.

First, I put the vamp back in his silver and wrap his whole body in chains. He cries, but he doesn’t speak or make any sound, too weak due to the silver or too sad, I’m not sure. In any case, I embrace the quiet, and once I put him in the closet and cover him in blankets, it’s almost as if he doesn’t exist.

Then I fish out the folder in the bottom drawer of my dresser. My hands shake as I grip the manila, sending the folder fluttering, but I carry it into the living room anyway and sit down on the couch with it. A familiar numbness falls over me as I open the folder.

Inside are the photos the Crusade showed me after my mother, father, and sister got slaughtered. Pale skin, teeth marks, my father’s eyes stuck open. Serena, just sixteen, looking as pretty as ever aside from the pallor and the wounds.

The first images are of them at the house after the vampires drained them, and the next are from the autopsies. The Crusade told me how my mother and sister had been violated. I hadn’t known at the time, and neither had Serena most likely, that our parents had been financial supporters of the Crusade. They hadn’t been the only ones killed that night in a systematic attack after an electronic security breach by vampire hackers.

I had been away at college. Otherwise, I’d be dead too.

Bile rises in my throat, and I slap the folder shut. How many people has Aimeric killed, I wonder? He himself warned me about how he could lose control. No doubt he’s done it before.

If his elders had told him to go on a mission to kill a family, would he have done it? I can’t picture him getting excited about the idea, but I can picture him going along with it out of fear of vampires bigger than him, and I can see his eyes closed in pleasure as he drinks.

He wouldn’t violate anyone though. My mind gets stuck on that.

I bring the folder back into the bedroom, but I don’t put it away. Driven by the angry pain that’s twisted in my gut, I yank open the closet door and unbury Aimeric. His eyes widen as I drag him out and throw his incapacitated body toward the carpet.

Then I open the folder and spread out the photos on the floor. I grab him by the chain across his upper back and shove his face at the glossy papers. “Look, you piece of shit.”

He can’t move or talk, but I watch his eyes. They twist with sadness, and I feel nothing.

It would be better if he felt nothing too. Then I could write him off as cold and selfish, kill him and feel justified.

But I _would_ be justified. He’s a monster. If nothing else, it would be a mercy killing. He should have died when he died the first time; it’s only natural. And it’s not like his life since has been rosy. Now he’s a sex slave to a hunter. He said he wants to hurt himself. He’s _told_ me to kill him.

I take off the muzzle and push him onto his back. “Do you still want to die?”

His eyes are filled with tears. “Who are they?”

I glance at the photos, then back to Aimeric’s glistening cheeks. “My family. Your kind killed them. And they raped my mother and sister.”

I can’t cry anymore. I emptied all my tears years ago before the Crusade asked me to become a hunter. My cheeks are bone dry. Yet Aimeric cries over people he doesn’t even know, choking out sobs.

“H-How old were you?” he asks.

“Nineteen.”

He sniffles. “It’s no wonder you hate us.”

Staring at Aimeric, I regain a little clarity, and guilt pinches me as I collect the photos and put them away. My family doesn’t deserve to be thrown on the floor or to have their desecrated bodies shown to vampire eyes.

I should get rid of Aimeric. The vamps I kill on the full moon—the ones I don’t know by name—are safer outlets. They don’t get under my skin like this one does. They don’t beckon to me like some pitiful siren, begging me to get lost inside them for hours on end.

But when I look at Aimeric, helpless and still crying, I don’t feel like cutting off his head. Instead, I’d like to relive the night I found him, when I tried to punish him and he enjoyed it.

He’s not a threat to anyone but me. I still work for the Crusade. I’m still doing the work I’m supposed to be doing, and I won’t slip up again.

I can keep my fucktoy as long as I don’t slip up again.

I deserve it. “I _deserve_ it.”

Aimeric watches me questioningly as I take him out of his silver. I’m not gentle. I won’t be gentle this time no matter how he cries.

The Crusade had a job for me earlier but assigned it to someone else when they couldn’t reach me. So now I wait for the next call. And I will hear the ring even if I’m balls-deep in my fuck hole because I won’t be letting Aimeric give me his blood anymore.

“Storm—”

“Keep fucking quiet or I’ll put the muzzle back on.” I shove my pants down just enough to get out my cock and line it up with his entrance. “You’re a spoiled fucking brat.” I force my cock into his cool, dry hole. “I let you manipulate me with your fucking whining, but it won’t happen again.” Pleasure throbs through my lower half as his insides grip my cockhead. The friction burns, but I’m used to it. Vamp holes always give way in the end.

When I look at Aimeric next, there’s something in his eyes I can’t abide: pity.

I cover his face with one hand and thrust into him, sending his body jerking with each pounding. When he moans against my palm, my cock leaks, lubricating our connection.

I backhand him. “I said be quiet.”

His gaze doesn’t hold pity anymore. It’s sex-drugged, relaxed.

So I hit him again, and he mewls and arches his back.

I break out in a sweat. “You’re sick. No wonder your kind hates you,” I tell him. “You’re just a cold sex doll. A hole for anyone.” I thrust as hard as I can, and Aimeric whimpers.

Distress enters his gaze. “No.”

“No, what?” As I continue to thrust into him, I realize he’s yet to touch me. I’ve given him his hands, and he hasn’t touched me.

“Not anyone.” For some reason, the strangled words irk me. And Aimeric’s hands twitching against the floor irk me.

I pull out of him and stand, my cock only half hard now. “You don’t want me?”

Aimeric presses his palms to his eyes, his claws disappearing into his hair. “When you allude to my elders, you steal my pleasure. Perhaps I do want to die.”

“How is what I do any different than what they did?”

Aimeric shifts his hands until he’s peeking through his fingers. “You care about how I feel.”

Put like that, it sounds so fucking stupid. But I do get off on his pleasure. Otherwise, I would have already killed him, left him headless on that first night.

“Get up,” I tell him and nudge him with my foot. “I want you in the bed.”

Aimeric obeys. I stalk toward him as he watches me uncertainly from the nest of sheets, white aside from the odd blood smear.

“I gave you use of your hands, so I expect you to touch me. Or I can put the cuffs back on.”

Aimeric peers at me furtively. “I’ll touch you.”

“Good boy.” I crawl on the bed, and he sinks onto his back, ready for me, obedient. I take mercy on him and reachfor the oil I’ve still got on the nightstand, but I don’t do anything aside from slick up my cock. That vise grip is what I want.

I push into him again, and he puts his hands on me, his claws tickling my outer arms. His eyes are closed, but when I snap my hips, he opens them.

I yearn to be even deeper inside of him, owning every inch of him. “Tell me what you feel.”

He licks his bottom lip. “Heat. Your heartbeat.” A crease appears between his brows. “It’s not enough.”

I know he wants to feed from me, but I still ask. “What do you want?”

“Want you under my skin.” He mewls. “Need you deeper. Everywhere.”

It’s not what I thought he’d say, and I’m suddenly tight all over. My balls draw up, and I still, holding off the eruption.

Aimeric makes a sound like he’s in pain, his eyes clamped shut.

I slap him again, just hard enough to get his attention. His eyes are little solar eclipses, the black nearly obscuring the white, and I thrust again. Then I run my hand down Aimeric’s chest and find his nipples hard as little rocks.

When I touch them, his mouth falls open, but he makes no sound. I pinch them as hard as I can, and he whimpers loudly and thrashes his head from side to side.

As I ram my pelvis into his ass over and over, my balls pull up tight again.

I stop, trembling.

“Please,” Aimeric nearly screams. “I need your spend.”

I hook my fingers into his mouth and spit into it. He swallows, his throat rolling, and bucks into me. I spit again and again.

Deep cuts sear my back as Aimeric claws into me, and I come. It’s as if I’m nothing but a cum dispenser as more and more leaves me. Aimeric clenches around my cock and slices through of each of his nipples before his whole body tightens and jerks.

I stay inside him, resting my face on his neck as I try to catch my breath.

“You came without blood,” I manage.

Aimeric is too busy licking his claws to answer. I grip his hair and position us so his mouth is against my throat.

He makes a little sound, and then his fangs breach me. He holds me tightly with all his limbs, and I sink into the stinging pain, both at my throat and my back, and the pressure of his body enveloping me.

He only takes a little blood but spends a long time licking the wound, and I shudder uncontrollably.

He very lightly scratches my scalp. “Let me heal you.”

My back burns fiercely, but I shake my head. “No.” Aimeric’s anal muscles tighten as they repair themselves, and I wince as I pull out my sensitive cock.

As I hover over him, he looks at me like I’m God. Never has a vampire ever looked at me like this, and nerves twist through my stomach.

“You look in love.” I put as much disdain into my tone as I can muster.

Aimeric’s brow creases. “Perhaps I am.”

“You’re a masochist.”

A slow smirk tilts Aimeric’s lips. “Yes, and you hurt me well.”

My stomach twists harder and deeper, and I roughly grip Aimeric’s jaw.

He doesn’t flinch.

“Don’t scratch me so deeply ever again. I won’t take your blood anymore.”

The adoration finally slips from his gaze. “Why not?”

“You saw what happened. I lost track of time. You drugged me, and I fucked up with the Crusade. That can’t happen, and it _won’t_ happen again. Understood?”

Aimeric nods in my grip. “Yes, master.”

“Good pet.” I let him go and flop onto my back. The scratches smart, but I’ve had worse, and the sheets already have blood on them.

Aimeric immediately snuggles up to my side. “Pet?”

“That’s what you are, aren’t you?” It’s surreal to have his cool body pressed to mine like this. I can sense his happiness, his ease. And I want to hate it, to punish him so he remembers his place, but he feels so good against me, like a balm after looking at the photos.

I let my eyes fall closed, and Aimeric draws gentle circles on my chest with the tip of a claw.

“If I could take away the pain that makes you kill my kind, I would.”

I scoff. “Of course you would. It’d be in your best interest.”

“No. I would never have met you.” He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “You give me pleasure like I’ve never had before.”

I rub his back and swallow hard. “It’s because you’re damaged. Otherwise, you wouldn’t roll over for me like you do.”

Aimeric is silent for long enough that I open my eyes. He’s resting his cheek on my chest, his own gaze vacant until it flicks to my face. The mild hurt in it is easier to take than the adoration from earlier.

“I see through you,” he says. “You lash out because you feel for me too.” He pouts slightly, and suddenly my skin crawls to have him close.

I get up and retrieve his silver. When he lays eyes on it, he backs into the pillows, drawing his knees to his chest.

“Please, master. I don’t need it. I would never hurt you, never try to run.”

Perverse satisfaction makes me grin. “I know. Now be a good pet and hold out your arms.”


End file.
